


Knowing Peace

by Shatterpath



Series: Tales of Earthdawn [1]
Category: Earthdawn
Genre: F/F, Role-Playing Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman, powerful in all ways, is faced with a challenge seeming insurmountable even by her. But, even a life in chains has lessons to teach. Some of which might even be love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Years ago, I played this system and loved it dearly. In the process of those halcyon days, I created many characters I still love. One of them, merely meant as an interesting NPC, took on a life of her own and this saga was born. You will learn much of the fascinating woman who is Kamryn Riverfray, and you will have many questions I hope to answer.

EARTHDAWN & BARSAIVE are registered trademarks of FASA (gaming) Corporation. Copyright 1993 FASA Corporation. All rights reserved.

The characters within this tale are nearly equal parts my own imagination and existing characters from the EARTHDAWN role-playing game. Mine are the Kitten, Captain Kamryn Riverfray, Strategos Xanava, Admiral Genarez, J’cen, Kryra, Lenarra, Dajel, Agreth, Lucky, Durc, Marta, Xanava’s various soldiers and friends and co-workers, Captain Daylor, Janess (who’s actually a player character that belongs to my original editor, Gail) and who else? Hmmm… let me think…

And why, you ask, did I bother writing down all these names? Cause they’re mine, nyahahaha! So there. But if you’re really nice, I just might include character sheets for some of these folk at the bottom of this thing. ‘Kay?

The author is including the following excerpt from the main rulebook from the EARTHDAWN role-playing game. This is for the benefit of the readers who have never before encountered the game. I hope both the intro and the story after it interests you enough to learn more about this well thought out and fascinating fictional world.

 

# AGE OF LEGEND

_The heroes of today are the legends of tomorrow._

**-King Varulus III of Throal**

 

We live in an Age of Legend.

After centuries of hiding beneath the earth, humanity has ventured out into the sunlight to reclaim the world. trolls, dwarfs, elves, orks and humans live side by side with exotic races: the lizard-like T’skrang, the small winged windlings, and the earthen obsidimen. Creatures both magical and mundane dwell once more in the forests and jungles. Arcane energies offer power to those willing to learn the ways of magic.

Once, long ago, the land grew lush and green. Thriving forests sheltered plants and animals, and people grew and prospered off the land’s bounty. Then the Horrors came, and drowned the world into darkness.

The world’s flow of magic rose, and at its height dread creatures from the darkest depths of astral space crossed into our world, leaving suffering and destruction in their wake. The world’s inhabitants named these fell creatures the Horrors. They laid our world to waste in a terrible time now known as the Scourge. The lush forests died. Bustling towns vanished. Beautiful grasslands and majestic mountains became blasted, barren terrain, home to the Horrors’ twisted mockery of life.

The Horrors lusted to destroy all life, but they did not succeed. Before their coming, the magicians of the Theran Empire warned the world, and the people of the Earth took shelter under it. They built fantastic underground cities called kaers and citadels; their children and their children’s children grew up within these earthen enclaves, never seeing the light of the sun. For four hundred years the Horrors roamed the land, devouring all they touched while the people hid in terror, until the slow ebb of the world’s magic forced these loathsome creatures to retreat the astral pit that spawned them. The Horrors departed before the magicians and wise men had believed they would; the wary people emerged slowly from their kaers, facing the world half in hope that the Scourge had truly ended and half in fear that the Horrors lingered. Though most of the Horrors left this world, many remain, inflicting cruel anguish and suffering on other living creatures. As humanity struggles to remake the shattered world, they must combat the remaining Horrors who seek to prolong the destruction and despair of the Scourge.

Now Heroes travel the land, rediscovering the its lost legends and exploring its changed face. For the world has changed, almost beyond recognition. Many people died during the Scourge; the Horrors breached some kaers and citadels and destroyed their inhabitants. Other kaers remain sealed, from unknowable disaster or simple fear; their contents await discovery by bold explorers. Should they find any folk still living within, these brave adventurers may lead such fear-darkened souls out to live again in the light.

The dwarven kingdom of Throal lies at the center of the province of Barsaive, the largest inhabited province in the known world. The dwarfs seek to unite Barsaive’s far-flung cities and people under one crown and one banner, the better to repel the advances of the Theran Empire that ruled Barsaive before the Scourge. The Therans returned to the province shortly after the Scourge ended, seeking to bend it again to their yoke, but the people of Barsaive rejected the Therans iron rule and rallied behind the dwarfs of Throal. Beaten for the moment, the Therans gather strength and wait to strike again. As Barsaive’s Heroes search for lost treasures and battle fantastic creatures, they must also battle the Therans, who plan to rob Barsaive of its newfound freedom and make its people pawns of their vast Empire.

In the Age of Legend, Heroes band together to fight the Horrors and reclaim the wounded world for those born in it. As they explore the altered land, searching for legendary cities and treasures, they become the Legends that will light the coming days. As with those who went before them, tales of their deeds will live forever in men’s hearts. From many paths, the heroes come to join in common cause. Those who seek honor and glory come from many Disciplines, and battle evil to redeem the world with a multitude of gifts. A band of heroes may include an Illusionist, a spellcaster who combines deception and reality to confuse those around him; a Swordmaster, one trained in the art of fighting with bladed weapons; or a Beastmaster, able to train and command the beasts of the earth and sky. The world holds countless heroes, but all share one trait: a willingness to fight to reclaim the world from that which threatens it. Through noble deeds and sacrifice, the Heroes of the world will forge its future.

 

**(And now, a further word from your author…)**

Okay folks that’s it for the propaganda. The above treatise gives you the bare bones of the world of EARTHDAWN. If this story intrigues you in the slightest, I highly recommend the chapter in the main rulebook entitled ‘How it came to pass’. This is a far more comprehensive overview of the world than good King Varulus had space or time for.

Here are some other tidbits of information that I think might be useful. 

The Theran Empire was originally formed when the ancient Elven Court fractured over a disagreement. The outcasts find information about the coming of the Horrors and the Empire is built upon the ideals of surviving the Scourge. Unfortunately, the Empire begins to grow alarmingly fast and to keep up, the Therans turn to slavery. Soon the practice is the foundation of their whole Empire. After the Scourge, Barsaive has fifty long years of freedom and has no intention of becoming slaves again. Hence the conflict. Lucky for Barsaive, Thera has much more pressing problems and is leaving the province mostly alone. For now.

The people of EARTHDAWN have the ability to create flying ships varying in size from a large yacht to an entire chunk of a mountain that can fly. They accomplish this by using kernels of True Air. Each of the five elements, Air, Earth, Water, Fire and Wood have a highly concentrated, magical form that Elementalists can do all sorts of neat stuff with.

Everything of importance; places, items and in particular, people and Horrors have what’s called a True Pattern. This is sort of an astral/magical blueprint of the entirety of them. Adepts can tie Patterns of magical items to their own Pattern to utilize special abilities of the item.

Orichalcum is a mystical metal that can only be created through magic. It is particularly easy to enchant and a royal pain to make. There are also very, very rare places where it can be mined.

The t’skrang live in submerged cities on the vast Serpent River, the equivalent of the Nile or the Mississippi. The largest of the villages are also trade groups called aropagoi. Their most valuable members are given physical tokens (which are bonded to the recipient’s True Pattern) called a g’doinya. Back before the Scourge, the elves and the t’skrang warred over control of Barsaive’s mighty rivers. The t’skrang were given the ability to create boats with engines that used True Fire to power huge paddle wheels. They won the war and now control the waterways.

The local deities are a dozen figures the Barsaivians call the Passions. Each represents a set of ideals. Three went mad during the Scourge and are now considered evil.

That should cover some of the most mystifying stuff in this fantasy world. Now my fellow Name-Givers, on with my tale of love and loss and learning…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero's adventure begins. A violent attack changes a long life already rich with diversity. How does one survive having her freedom taken away?

  _Meraerth thi k’harro_

Translated from the elven and t’skrang tongues as ‘Warrior of my Heart’

 

“’Tis the seventh hour and all’s well!”

The shout had far less effect on me than the hour announced. It was unlike me to be abed at this hour and I scrambled quickly from the bedding. Today the crew was cheerful and tense. I knew it was the immediate proximity of our ancient enemy clan that had them so high strung. Flashes of garish clothing and colorful t’skrang skin wove a familiar tale across our fast warship. Soon we would be home to the place of their birth. I felt the longing for my adopted home as powerfully as they did. How we missed the Island of Everliving Reeds, with its history and magics and the safety of our powerful Shivalahala. She was the heart of House V’strimon and beloved by us all. A shout of alarm interrupted my musings and our whole world changed.

It had happened so cursedly fast. A great drakkar had loomed over the nearby trees to cast its immense over our fast shivoram. My gunners had no warning and the fire cannons were slow to respond to the threat as the huge airship lolled ungracefully to its side to release its volley of fiery death on us. Suddenly there were too many t’skrang on the decks as the enemy slithered down clingor ropes from the airship above. The K’tenshin had come at last. Blade drawn and spells primed in my Matrixes, I waded into the fray. There were shouts and screams as I desperately tried to save them all. The shivoram, my precious Intrepid, quivered beneath my feet from the beating she was taking. There was smoke and fighting everywhere and the hated flash of ruby and gold flashing in the ears and crests of our enemies. 

In the end, it wasn’t enough. No matter how many Namegivers bearing that hated jewelry fell before the crystalline glitter of my ancient lineage sword, or felt the fury of my Wizardry, more came on. Heavy bodies bore me to the deck, I was drenched in their blood, they pummeled me with fists, feet and strong tails. Rage made me curse them impotently as darkness eventually took me.

Consciousness returned gradually like the curious paws of the ship’s cat when he woke me most mornings. Damn beast, I relied upon him like the cock’s crow and he all to often let me sleep. My absent musing was abruptly shattered when sensation and memory flooded through my hazy mind. My ship! My crew! All those endearing t’skrang who had at last accepted me despite my being born of the race they had bested so long ago. Shackled at wrist and ankle, blindfolded and gagged, I was pulled tight into a spread eagle position. Thin layers of soft cloth clung to my skin at hip and chest. Panic began to well up through the clinging haze within my body and mind. Then I became aware of the familiar comfort of the band of Everliving Reeds the V’strimon had woven around my right wrist. I latched my attention there, on the uncomfortable press of the shackle of flesh and reeds alike. Through the fog in my head, it took me far too long to come to my next realization.

My connection to my magic… it was… wrong somehow. Like free flowing water suddenly trapped behind a beaver damn or heavy cloth thrown over a lightcrystal. Water will always find a way through, but it spattered and trickled through the cracks of its prison, the blinding light barely flickered through the cloth. Fear and horror clawed at my pounding heart and desert-dry throat. What had been done to me? Then I heard the dark chuckle and it froze me as surely as a felux’s flickering, hypnotic gaze.

The flat surface beneath me shuddered and the open space beyond my ears groaned in sympathy. Not a water ship…

Dread gripped my heart like ice and I struggled for control. I was aboard an airship. One, not made from wood, but something far heavier and more substantial.

“I have heard it is a disorienting experience,” spoke a voice nearby in a tone like icy fog. “To find oneself suddenly cut off from Talent and Item alike. I have heard it said that it is not unlike losing a sense. Or, perhaps for you, not being able to see so well in the dark. You cannot use you Wizardry abilities, _Captain_.”

The icy contempt on that last word made me shudder. He spoke in a language that identified him as a far worse threat than the K’tenshin. There was a tiny rustle of movement and gentle fingers stroked across my throat and collar.

“Welcome to the service of Thera.”

 

More time passed while the great stone airship groaned and creaked in a voice like the stoic obsidiman. My mind was disjointed and panicked, threads of thought slick and intangible. Obviously, I had been compromised in more ways than I had first realized. All of my beloved Pattern Items were nowhere within my painfully limited perceptions. It took all of my strength no to give into despair.

Someone large and ponderous huffed into the room and roughly loosened my bindings only to clip my numb wrists to my collar. They made an odd metallic noise when they touched. How strange, they did not feel like metal. Both ankles were also released and held in place by a large-handed Namegiver that I was powerless to overwhelm. A chain rattled near my feet and was clipped to the ankle cuffs abruptly before I was bodily hauled to my feet and that meaty hand held me up like a side of meat as my stiff body screamed in protest to the movement. Decades, perhaps centuries had passed since I had felt this kind of pain, howling like lightning across skin, muscle and bone. How frail, to no longer be an Adept.

Blackness danced around the corners of my mind and my stomach rebelled at the pain. In time, my feet remembered their job and I could gradually feel the icy stone floor beneath me. The big hand let me go and a harsh voice growled at me, “walk a bit, meat.” Two blind steps, which were more of a stumble from his shove, and I was brought up short by a tug on the collar. “Now back again.”

It was then that I realized I was on a leash. The humiliation made me freeze and disobey the tug on my neck. Rather than anger or violence, I merely earned a nasty laugh. All I could do was quake with anger and helplessness. The muscles of my lower face were like solid ice around the bulk of the gag holding my teeth wrenched open. My breath whirred agitatedly through the hole bored through the center of the solid ball. There was no comforting hum of the Serpent River, no babble of my crew’s voices. My ears ached where the sensitive tips were pinned cruelly beneath the blindfold straps. Blind, mute and helpless, I could only shake.

My bondage and the lingering disorientation made me utterly lose track of time, despite being able to wander around the small chamber that held me prisoner. Then the soft footfalls of the cold-voiced man returned and I was given no choice but to follow the yank on the short lead. The hovering presence of my brutish keeper and the weakness in my body kept me from doing anything rash. My bare feet made no sound save the clinking of the chains as we moved through the drafty stone ship.

Part of me was relieved I could understand the speech of the Therans. Another part perversely wished I could remain at least partially ignorant of my predicament. Many voices spoke to the man who held my fate in his hands. Admiral Genarez. More than once I walked right into his back when he stopped to talk to another. Eventually, sunlight warmed my perpetually chilled body and the sounds of society surrounded us. The Admiral hailed transportation and the sound of horse and coach rattled to a halt beside us. Once settled inside, the two men spoke of their exploits and their recent dealings with House K’tenshin. I was unsurprised by my enemy selling me into slavery even as I trembled in impotent rage.

When the coach stopped, the big man had to drag me out by the chains on my feet. I kicked savagely with adrenaline and anger-fueled energy while Genarez laughed. After a few solid blows, he managed to get a good grip and haul me bodily from the vehicle. It was an honest surprise that he didn’t let me to fall to the ground, but instead, tossed me over a shoulder.

“Kicks like a mule,” my handler grumbled and I tried to squirm in his iron grasp.

“Come now, all of them are like this at first,” Genarez chuckled. “You let your guard down because she was being docile. Soon enough she will learn her place.”

A possessive pat made me cringe into the armored shoulder beneath me. Inside of a cool building, it was noisy and smelled of a busy home. My handler dumped me roughly onto a stone surface in the kitchen and went away. Time perception faded as the noise in the kitchen dwindled to a single voice nearby. There was a gentle, but firm hand on my filthy hair that startled me out of my half-doze.

“Come pet, time for a scrub and some sleep. The Master says you’re dangerous, but Passions only know you don’t look it.”

The deep-voiced woman coaxed me to my feet and led me through a series of passageways. There seemed little to gain in antagonizing her, so I went along quietly. It was humiliating to be brusquely stripped and scrubbed down with not unkind efficiently. Occasionally, she would murmur softly to me as though soothing a skittish animal. It grated upon my battered pride, but was far easier to tolerate than pain. Soon I was helped from the low tub and briskly toweled off. It was a sincere relief to at last be warm again, even if the sensation was brief. The same kind of brief clothing was wrapped around my small frame and the blindfold was suddenly removed. The faint candlelight burned like a brand even as my numb ears rejoiced. Pressed into a chair, I was leaned back and the woman proceeded to wash my long hair. After the mass was toweled off, she ran the damp cloth over my face and the wrists still bound to the collar at my throat. My eyes and attention would not focus, and I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that I had been indeed compromised. Magic perhaps, or a drug to keep me bewildered and docile. A soft blindfold replaced the brutish device that had been on me before. She kindly left my poor ears alone. A short walk later, I was pressed onto a soft pallet and left in peace. Despite age, station, strong will, and all that I had seen and done and experienced, I curled into a fetal position and cried myself to sleep.

When woken later, I felt better for some normal sleep. Pulling me into a sitting position, the same woman spoke to me. “Get ready to swallow, pet.”

A thick liquid tasting of goat’s milk and rice trickled carefully down the hole in the gag. Any sensation in jaw, lips and teeth had long since fled and it took effort to convince my body to swallow painfully. It was the first nourishment I had received in longer than I could guess and felt wonderful in my aching belly. To soon the flow of food stopped and huffed in agitation though my nose.

“Too much now and you’ll most likely be sick. The Master will probably feed you later. Take a bit of water and we’ll be moving on.”

Passions preserve, that damn Admiral was going to be the death of me. Death would be preferable to what he was probably going to do to me. That set me trembling again and I cursed all of Thera and House K’tenshin for my helplessness.

My keeper slowly led me through cool spaces and voices died away as we entered a pleasantly warm room. “Ah, there she is, my little Barsavian prize,” Genarez purred as the leash was tied off and the woman patted me before leaving my personal space. “The K’tenshin barely managed the feat of capturing her, but did manage to let her ship get away. Fights like a Warrior, casts spells like a Wizard and moves like a Boatman.”

“Hard to believe such a little thing would cause so much trouble.” Now, the new voice had my attention. A woman’s voice, low and sultry with an undercurrent of toned power like the energy left behind from a lightning strike. “May I take a better look?”

“Be my guest.”

Soft footfalls accompanied the small sounds of thick leather armor and metal weapons. When she touched my face, I instinctively shied away. She did not like that and gripped my aching jaw in a grip like steel. The blindfold was tugged away and my heavy mane of long hair pushed back.

“Why, she’s an elf! And you say she was working for an aropagoi?”

“Just look at her right wrist for the proof. That band is woven from Everliving Reeds, House V’strimon’s g’doinya. I must admit that I’ve never heard of a Namegiver not born of the t’skrang earning the House token of trust.”

“So you had to have her yourself, is that it?”

Genarez chuckled again. “You know me, always the dedicated collector of fine and unusual things. When the K’tenshin started bragging about capturing her, I had to have her for myself. They didn’t like it, but those Barsavian scum need to be brought to heel as often as possible.”

“Hope she was worth it.”

“You tell me.”

Gradually, fire-lit ebony hair framing a bronzed face swam partially into focus. Dressed in midnight leather armor trimmed in silver, the only thing of real color on her was startling blue eyes. As tall and broad shouldered as any ork, she was far to pretty and slender for that race. Her free hand went to work on the tight straps holding the gag to my head while I tried to focus.

“Careful she doesn’t bite,” Genarez drawled and the woman chuckled throatily.

“I think I can handle it.” Astonishingly gentle fingers massaged my jaw as the gag began to come loose. Pain flooded my nerves and made me whimper quietly. “How long has she been in this thing?”

“Since she was captured, why?”

Carefully, the gag was pulled out from between my teeth and my muscles screamed in protest as feeling returned in burning waves. Both of her hands caressed my jaw, neck and cheeks as I moaned softly.

“Her muscles are so stiff, you’ll be lucky if she’s not damaged.”

Tears obliterated my bad vision as I wrapped my hands around her wrists to keep from collapsing. Part of me found her caresses reassuring even as I feared her.

“Do you like her?”

Warm hands stilled in response to his silky, manipulating tone. Her tone was carefully neutral as she began massaging me again. “Perhaps.”

Not much of a conversationalist, this one.

“Would you like her? You are so difficult to reward for your loyalty and service. It’s reassuring to see that something other than matters of battle can actually catch your attention.”

Pale, icy blue eyes bored into my clearing vision, the crippling pain at last seeming to clear my mind, like icy water. Some animal instinct caused me to relax into her gentle hands. There was a slow smile warm on her aristocratic features and I was amazed at her exotic beauty.

“I think I’d like that.”

My soul urged me to trust her, some hidden spark in her magnificent gaze tugging at me. And anything was preferable to that horrible man sitting across the room. A coaxing hand dropped to the collar and stroked my bound wrists.

“If I unbind you, will you behave?”

For a long moment, I tried to find the energy to defy her, only to nod tiredly. That earned me a quick grin as brilliant as a hot summer day. With a few quick movements, I was unleashed and led over to the table to sit at her feet. While she and the Admiral discussed tactics and troop movements, her hands loosened the knots keeping the wrist shackles and collar as one. My heavy arms dropped into my lap and she massaged my shoulders as sensation crept in almost as slowly as it had in my jaw. Weak, befuddled and in pain, surrounded by enemies and treated as an exotic new pet, I curled up on the rug at her feet and silently cursed the Passions.

Sudden jostling woke me later with a hoarse cry of alarm. It scattered the fractured images of pain and fire and chains. A chuckle answered my flailing and the arms around me tightened.

“Relax Kitten, it’s time to go home. You have no shoes, so you’ll ride with me. Goodnight Admiral.” Cradled against her powerful body was an experience in tenderness and humiliation. I had always been extremely short for an elf and being carried like this made me feel downright childlike. Again I wanted to fight and curse, but kept the urge buried deep inside. Swift footfalls took us to a great golden horse standing patiently in the courtyard. “Good evening Agreth, we have company. You are dismissed boy.” The lad holding the reins scurried away into the darkness. With effortless strength, she shifted my weight to one arm and hauled herself into the saddle. A startled sound escaped me and clutched at her without thinking. How I hated riding! “Don’t like horses, hmm?” Damn, but she was observant. Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to object and only a dry rasp emerged. “Poor Kitten. We’ll have soon have you fixed up.”

That was the second time she had called me that. A short, brisk ride wound us through a darkened city before a cry went up. “It’s the Strategos! Open the gate!”

Strategos? A rank or name? A handful of soldiers rushed up as Agreth drew to a smooth halt.

“Report,” my new owner instructed her troops briskly. One grizzled old ork stepped forward to do as instructed as she lowered me carefully to the ground. Away from her cloak and body heat, I shivered in the night air. Not until she took her striking eyes off of the man to dismount did the soldiers eye me curiously. I felt exposed and vulnerable as I shrank into Agreth’s bulk. “Standard watch, Tombin. Goodnight.”

“Aye Strategos. Goodnight.”

The abrupt tug at my collar nearly knocked me over and I grudgingly followed the larger woman. It was a neat, utilitarian grouping of buildings surrounded by a high wall I could make out in the darkness. My natural elven low-light vision afforded a decent view as we went to the second largest of the buildings. There was a small, handsome ork in a brief vest and loose pants waiting there.

“Welcome home.”

There was no mistaking the unspoken question between him and the one who held the leash clipped to my collar.

“This one,” she indicated me with a nod. “Will need a place to sleep and some soft food. Tomorrow she will require warmer clothes.”

Obviously, my shivering had not gone unnoticed. It was not only the cold, but also overstimulation and shock and stress. Kind summer-blue eyes regarded me frankly from between an unruly shock of blonde curls and well-shaped orkish tusks. He smiled winningly around his teeth and I decided I liked him.

“Go with Lucky, Kitten.”

With that, she dropped the leash and stalked silently into the shadowed recesses of the house. Both of us watched her go before looking searchingly at one another.

“Kitten, huh? She must like you,” Lucky chuckled and I opened my mouth to speak. His raised hand stopped my effort as much as did the sudden soberness in his eyes. “Whoever you were before doesn’t matter here. Kitten you have been called and Kitten you will remain until she decides otherwise. Get used to it.” The sympathy in his gaze softened his hard words and I nodded my compliance. Immediately, he was all smiles again and led me into the bowels of the big house. “C’mon, I’ll take care of you.”

Lucky seemed undisturbed by my lack of verbal communication. Hearty stew was ladled into a bowl and Lucky sat me on a bench to eat. I was shocked and grateful for the hearty dwarven ale he set beside it. Leaving me to eat, he soon returned with a small frame bed in tow. 

“This is the warmest spot in the house. Marta will wake you in the morning. Just let her see the collar and she’ll take care of you. Durc and I are in the next room, behind the fireplace, and the watercloset’s at the end of the hall over there. Here’s some warm socks and you get some sleep.”

Then he was gone and I smiled after him. Lucky had made me feel surprisingly at home and brought me wool socks besides. Later I was woken by a sound from the next room. Honestly, I could not even remember climbing beneath the rough blankets. Male voices were speaking in raised tones, but I could not make out the words over the sounds of the low fire. Exhaustion pulled me under again.

That night I dreamed again of fire, smoke and screaming…

 

Soft sounds of someone bustling about the kitchen woke me to see a sturdy human woman moving about. There was one curious glance to acknowledge me and she returned to her duties. It was yet another shock to be so… disregarded by this stranger. My body and soul ached painfully. After getting a grip on my emotions, my gaze wandered to my wrist where it lay on the pillow by my head. It was the first time I had been able to see the bindings on my body and I began to understand what had happened to me. The sturdy cuff, only a couple of fingers wide, was made of solid orichalcum. The most mystical of materials, the metal was an impossible combination of Kernels of all five of the True Elements. Admiral Genarez had indeed made quite an investment into my uniqueness. The orichalcum also explained how the Therans had separated me from my hard won Disciplines. Time passed while I drifted in and out of a dazed stupor.

A strong hand shook my shoulder. Without thinking, I cuffed the offending limb away. “Hey now,” a gentle male voice chuckled softly. “I’m your friend.” Even kneeling, the new ork was taller than I. My eyes searched out the crown of his head before I could stop myself. Not a troll. He chuckled again. “I’m Durc. You already met Lucky. How are you feeling?” When I tried to speak, my voice was still only a hoarse rasp. “That good huh? If you can get up, we’ll throw some clothes together for you.”

That day I learned more about the two Ork men dressed in black as I was. Durc was a gentle giant with a powerful will and the strength of a thundrabeast. Lucky was friendly and gregarious and did enough talking for all of us. Slowly, my perceptions were starting to truly clear up and stay that way. I did my best to ignore my predicament and the deadening of my magic. We were seated in the kitchen after a tour of the grounds where the soldier’s eyes made my skin crawl. The shadows grew longer as Lucky continued to regale us with tales about his life as the Strategos’ personal assistant. They called her only ‘the Wolf’. Suddenly they both went rigid and silent, blue eyes on the doorway. Then they both exploded into action.

“C’mon,” Lucky urged me to my feet. “She’s home.”

There was no need to question whom they meant.

Unsure of what might be required of me, I hid in the shadows of the great room. The double doors swung open to reveal the tall woman in the inky armor, silhouetted by the fading sun. The Wolf stalked in and nodded briskly at the two male slaves. Her velvet voice reached my hiding place. “How did your errand go, Durc?”

“Just as you said it would. The parchments are on your desk.”

“Excellent. That will teach that fat old fool to attempt to cross me.” A gauntleted hand flashed out with incredible speed to grab Lucky’s hand where he had been attempting to take her cloak. “No, that won’t be necessary. Where is the Kitten?”

This was an important twist in the river of my life. Either I rebelled against this woman now and found what she was really made of, or submitted and waited for an opportunity. I had not lived this long by making foolish and egotistical decisions and stepped from the shadows. Some instinctual part of me still believed that she would not harm me. As she drew close, we quietly regarded each other. This day my eyes were almost completely clear and I was able to finally get a truly good look at this powerful woman who held my life in her hands.

The Wolf was at least a head, perhaps a head and a half taller than I and easily twice my mass. Broad shouldered, narrow hipped and far prettier than I had ever expected any human to be, she was a feast for the eyes. High cheekbones, a strong chin, a perfect aquiline nose and a short mane of wild raven hair all complimented those eyes. Those magnificent eyes likened to summer skies or deep, deep ice or the hottest of fires. Beside her large, armored body, I felt tiny and helpless. Up close, I realized that the thick leather armor was not truly black at all, but a deep, mahogany red like a rare, luxuriously oiled wood. The hilt of a sword peeked over her shoulder and an elaborate hawk hatchet hung at her hip.

“How is your voice?”

I made a great show of trying to clear my throat and getting only a raspy hiss. That devastating smile caught me off guard yet again. Had I honestly amused her? Had I meant to?

“No matter, you’ll have time enough to recover.” Her tone shifted to include the men. “I’ll be campaigning again. At least a week, perhaps a month if they’re trenched in. You boys and Marta will have to get the Kitten here on some kind of schedule. But before I go…”

In one fluid movement, the leather gauntlets had been removed and I shied away. For an insane moment I had honestly believed that she had meant to strike me with them. But no, they were merely tucked into her belt so that the Wolf could rummage into her belt pouch. A handful of the red-black leather strips were brought out into the light. They were a soft, parchment-thin kidskin and her nimble fingers coaxed them into some semblance of order. When she reached for me, I instinctively shied away and her eyes softened. After a pause, she delicately rested her fingertips on the collar that rested heavily against my skin.

“I don’t mean you any harm. Honestly, I’m not entirely certain what to do with you. When I return I hope to get to know you better.”

Unexpected sadness flitted across her expression only to fade into melancholy concentration. Powerful fingers curled around the metal band and I shivered at the press of her knuckles in my windpipe. One of the straps was held up for my inspection.

“My symbol,” the Wolf whispered intimately. “I will have no others touch you.”

For a long moment I swore she was going to say more. Our gazes held for a long pregnant moment before I dropped mine to the strap. Stamped into the leather was a stylized wolf’s head of pure silver, muzzle raised in song. The choice did not surprise me. A smile ghosted across my face and I surprised both of us by reaching up to lift my heavy mane away from my neck. It would do no good to alienate the kindness in her. After a pause, she released the collar only to start weaving the thin strips around the orichalcum band. She worked her way around to stand beside me. The feel of her warmth against my bent neck was exhilarating and terrifying. When she continued the procedure on my wrists, I watched avidly. The bands were a solid circle, there were no seams or keyholes and they mimicked the shape of my flesh very closely. They were only loose enough to get a single finger beneath and I was grateful that the kidskin only made them marginally thicker.

“Come sit so that I can finish the job.”

It was strange to have this powerful woman kneeling at my feet and removing the heavy socks Lucky had given me. My heels were set on a strong thigh one by one and soon the striking orichalcum had been reduced to glittering rings peeking out of the inky coverings.

“There now,” the Wolf proclaimed in satisfaction. “Now you look like a proper jeraleh. As long as you are not overtly bold, none should question you. Now come along.”

We found the men in the courtyard preparing the Strategos’ beautiful warhorse. The heavy gauntlets were negligently drawn back on as she strode over to them. If there had been any doubt in my mind, her ease of movement in the heavy armor convinced me that she was an Adept. The thought brought a blaze of pain to my heart and my choked True Pattern hummed in sympathy.

“Lucky, put that bed of hers at the foot of mine. If any of the inspectors come to the house while I’m gone, she is jeraleh and I have no time to train her. So they had best keep their hands off. Durc, be certain to keep an ear out on that _situation_ and I will expect a report upon my return.”

And with that, she pulled Agreth’s head around and they were gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The weeks passed quietly. Lucky moved my small bed into a large bedroom furnished with simple elegance. It was in an alcove there that I found the desk. Papers in a neat, hurried hand, quills and charcoal, two small books bound in scaled skin and an incredible collection of maps were strewn about the space. I dared not disturb anything but stared hungrily at the foreign writing on all that paper. The Talent of Read and Write Language was just out of reach, dampened by the orichalcum bonded to my body and Pattern. So I stared at the words as often as could and _willed_ myself to understand. 

Much of my time was spent skulking about the house like, well, a skittish kitten. There was the warm kitchen, a small slave’s dormitory where the men lived, the master bedroom, two guest rooms, a central greatroom and a beautiful dining room. There was also a locked door that Lucky told me was a library. How desperately I wanted in there. It was not in my nature to be without tasks and my new existence was maddening. Just as infuriating was my inability to speak, to ask questions and interact with the men and Marta. Unable to read or write in a language we all understood, I was forced to communicate with my hands and body. My silence threatened to drive me mad. After living among the noisy and gregarious t’skrang upon the great Serpent River… 

When I was finally able to croak out Durc’s name, it was a rebirth. They taught me games using decks of cards with four suits and the competition grew fierce. Our markers were dried beans and empty nutshells and used buttons. Lucky nearly always beat us both, and I began to understand his name. But I had spent more than eighty years among the craftiest of Namegivers and caught on fast. Durc laughed at our mock-fierce antics. He also brought me a wooden sword to help assuage my boredom by hacking at shadows in the greatroom. 

Then fate caught up with me. At the unexpected knock at the door, I quickly stashed the sword underneath the couch as Lucky went to answer it.

“Is the Strategos in?”

“No sir, she is off campaigning. Is there something I may assist you with, sir?”

It was obvious that Lucky wanted to prevent then from muscling their way in; unfortunately, he was one small ork in slave black. They were a small, piggy human and a burly ork guardsman unfocused with boredom. They were not kind. Nor did they outright brutalize me. Stripped naked and prodded at like an animal, I was checked for health and condition. I balked at the thoroughness of the ork’s examination, at his rough hands over every inch of me. By the time they were done treating me like livestock, I was shaken. Never had I felt so lowly and worthless, but the irony was their very indifference. It was the only thing that made the whole event tolerable. Lucky explained tightly that I had yet to be trained and the loyal and well-respected Strategos was always so busy guarding the mighty Theran empire and did they know I was a gift from Admiral Genarez himself? The piggy man pinned us both with an unreadable look before leaving as brusquely as he had arrived. A cup of warm tea and the men’s sympathy were my only reward for remaining calm during the whole incident.

It was during the third week that I leaned the Strategos’ name. The burly ork, who had so blankly manhandled me only days before, showed up on the doorstep to hand me a small parchment. “Give this to Strategos Xanava.”

With no change of expression, he turned and walked away. So I took the scroll to her desk and set it down carefully. Then it happened. Like the first Key Knowledge needed to bind a magic Item to one’s True Pattern, her Name unlocked the indecipherable writings on the desk. The thrill of magic rushed through me, muted but plainly felt, along with a wave of disorientation and pain that left me panting on the floor. What in the name of the Passions was _that_? It was like having a bolt of lightning hit far to close, an experience I have actually lived through. Split the mast of the Intrepid right down to the shivoram’s draft. Except that this attack had been internal, radiating out… from the collar and cuffs. Not willing to put my energies to that mystery, I sat at the desk and read the dry military document that had been teasing me for weeks with the enthusiasm of a starving man at a feast. At the bottom was her neat signature. Xanava Espe Antonia Neci. The exotic name suited her perfectly. Beside the signature was a wax pressing of the same symbol I wore at my throat. Was there anything on this desk that would help me gain my freedom? Once again, the need to stay on this woman’s kind side won out. Nothing on the desk was disturbed.

After the first few days of captivity, I had realized how warm it generally was here. It certainly had not felt that way at first! Faint smells of water drifted on the breeze, but it smelled like nothing I had ever experienced. There was a tang to it like the Death Sea, but without the stench. When I asked Lucky, he told me that it was the Selestrean Sea and that perhaps the Strategos might take me to see it. I wondered constantly what was beyond the walls, and the stories my housemates told me only whetted my appetite for more. When memories did dance across my mind’s eye, there was little I could do about it, as there was so little to distract me. Eventually, even the unflappable Marta could no longer stand me skulking about and I was drafted into helping with the laundry. 

Marta was not a slave. She wore no collar and dressed in myriad colors, unlike the relentless black we slaves sported. The boys and myself were treated like intelligent and valuable pets. In the early morning, she would pass through the gates unmolested by the soldiers to tend to us and some of the household duties. There was light housecleaning that we were often pressed into, some checking of the household books, a light lunch and dinner was left warming in the oven before she left. If we displeased her, the punishment was simple and effective. We did not eat. We were sent out in the courtyard to exercise ourselves when Marta wanted us out from underfoot. I hated the way the soldiers looked at me, like an object to be possessed; though none dared to do more than stare in silence. They feared the Wolf at my throat like Death itself. By slyly and discretely listening to them, I was able to learn that the Strategos was a Legend in her own time. If half the tales told were true, she had accomplished much for one so young.

How old was she anyway? Having little experience with humans, I could barely hazard a guess. In the darkness of night, I often dreamed of Xanava. Between my innate curiosity, the scent of her lingering in the bedroom and the memories in my head, I could not help myself. One afternoon, Marta bullied Lucky and I into the big stone tub outside the kitchen to ‘enjoy the summer air’. I balked at the idea of being naked outdoors and received an icy look for my reluctance. There was an empty feeling in my gut that made me suspect we would have no dinner that night.

“No worries, Kitten,” Lucky waved off his lost dinner lazily. “We’ll live. She can never stay mad long at any of us.”

That helped, but I still felt badly. Hunkered down self-consciously in the warm water, I tried to distract myself with a question.”

“Lucky?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s a jeraleh?”

In response to my still-weak voice, he peeled open one indolent eye to regard me. Many of us in the complex had blue eyes, Lucky, Durc, Marta, three of the soldiers and myself. But none had the extraordinary gaze of the Strategos. 

“I was wondering when you’d finally ask. You don’t ask nearly enough questions. Even Marta wonders why you’re so bright-eyed and inquisitive, but so withdrawn.” My expression grew dark, for losing my freedom was still a soul sore that would not heal. As long as the collar had its grip around my throat, I was crippled in ways he could never understand. Lucky sighed heavily and leaned forward to give me his undivided attention. “You’re not going to like the answer.”

“I’m fairly certain I already _know_ the answer. Just tell me.”

“There’s an Imperial province on the south side of the Selestrean Sea called Merac. They’re very ancient and ritualized. They began the practice of the jeraleh. The educated pleasure slave.” My eyes widened and Lucky continued in that same sober tone. “Durc keeps track of the house and grounds, I make certain the finances are in order and act as personal valet. Marta oversees us both. According to your title, you take care of the Strategos’ personal needs.”

I surprised him with a sultry smile. “Then it’s a good thing I find her fascinating.”

Passions only knew what the rest of the complex thought of his booming laughter.

 

Nearly a month and half passed before the call went up. Lucky and I were wrestling like pups in the courtyard while Durc laughed and the soldiers looked on in amusement.

“Open the gates! It’s the Strategos!”

I remained frozen for a moment while the others scrambled in reaction to the crier. Lucky was suddenly on me, yanking me to my feet and hastily trying to brush off the clinging grass and dirt. Durc padded over to help as the gates swung wide.

Like a vision of Death she rode through the archway. Both she and Agreth were nearly black with soot and grime. There was no packhorse and it was obvious that Agreth was overburdened and exhausted. Filthy soldiers filed in behind her and their fellows moved in to help with gear and the few remaining beasts of burden. While the boys went to Xanava, I swallowed my trepidation and went to Agreth. The poor beast seemed comforted when I pulled her noble head to my meager warmth. She reeked of smoke and dried blood, bad water and thick sweat. My gentle touches on her ears and forelock had her almost swaying on her four sturdy legs. Finally Xanava had to shout hoarsely over the noise.

“You’re squawking like old women! Talen, get warm water and bathe Agreth. Romer, there are ten wounded, go fetch Shan if she isn’t already on her way. The rest of you get cleaned up and get some rest. Our long fight is over and we have persevered!”

The soldier’s proud cry rose up in harmony to Xanava’s upthrust sword and they began to disband to their tasks. After a last hug, I allowed the dwarf to lead Agreth away after the Strategos had dismounted. She ran her fingers through her hair and turned a small grin on Lucky.

“Good to see you well, Lucky. I need a bath drawn.”

“Of course Strategos, good to have you home and safe.” Then I felt the blue eyes burning into my skin. “You look like you need a bath now yourself, Kitten.”

I smiled at her light tone and stepped in closer to look up into her magnetic gaze.

“Yes Strategos,” I drawled throatily and she blinked in what might have been surprise at the deep timbre of my voice.

“I wondered what you would sound like. Come.”

Silently, I followed her into the master bedroom where I had been sleeping all this time. Lucky had just finished prepping a steaming bath when we arrived. Pleasure sparkled in her eyes and faintly curled her mouth. Between the two of them, she was stripped of armor and clothing to leave her unselfconsciously naked. Xanava was far more slender beneath her heavy armor than I had realized. Her womanly curves highlighted familiar flat working muscles and there was an Adventurer’s map of scars decorating her skin.

“Go, Lucky, that armor will take you all night. I can tend to my own needs.”

Flashing me a significant look, Lucky gathered up her gear with some difficulty and slipped out. The crackle of the fire had masked the sound of Xanava’s movements and when I looked back she was dumping a pail of water over her head. Half wet, she scrubbed off the worse of the filth with her hands. Another dousing as he shivered and turned to the tub… and looked supremely shocked that I was still standing there. Beaded with water, hair slicked back and expression open, I realized that she was indeed young. Exhaustion danced in her eyes and pulled at the proud lines of her body. Feeling bold, I reached out to take her large hands in my small ones.

“Let me help.”

Once settled in the steaming water, Xanava watched me through hooded eyes. Unlike her, I was self-conscious and had to brace myself to disrobe. Like a physical touch, I could feel her burning gaze on me. Did she approve of my appearance? Did I care? I did. Since I was in a position where I would most likely need to service this woman, it would be some consolation to my pride. So I turned and let my hands fall to my sides. With her arms draped over the back of the tub, she looked closely at me in the glow of the light crystals and candles. A lazily curled finger beckoned me close enough to touch. Shivers ran up and down my body as Xanava lightly traced the wicked crescent-shaped scar beneath my left breast.

“Someone almost killed you,” she murmured softly and I shrugged.

“Hazards of the Scourge.”

My tight comment made her head snap up in surprise and she stared intently at me. “How old _are_ you?” It was unfair that I had had given her the opening to ask that question first. With an anxious sigh, I nervously crossed my arms over my breasts. 

“Two hundred and twelve.”

For an endless moment, she could only stare. Then a tremor ran through my naked body and she instantly focused. “Get in before you get cold.” Those big hands took mine and helped settle me between her strong legs. The heat of her body and the water was wonderful, and I tried to swallow my fear of how she made me feel. Those hands smoothed over my skin, the touch both sensuous and clinical. “Relax Kitten, I have no desire to hurt you.”

My head was tilted back so that Xanava could wet my hair down. Then she proceeded to wash the heavy mass while I watched her face, hovering so close to mine. It was such a strange sensation, for only my half-witted old grandmother had ever done this task for me. I fell further under Xanava’s potent charms.

“How old are you?”

Yes, that indeed had been my voice that had asked that. Those caressing fingers stilled before tightening into my wet hair and pulled my head back as I hissed in reaction. Those pale eyes burned into mine like twin lightning strikes. A slow, sultry grin warmed Xanava’s face.

“You’re impertinent.” Her free hand wandered over my tense throat, suggesting both sensuality and danger. The smile widened as my breath hitched when she caressed the sensitive length of muscles and tendons. Her touch was driving me mad. “That’s one of the reasons I like you.” The grip tightened for a brief moment, the pull bringing tears to my eyes. “But don’t get cocky.”

And then suddenly, as though realizing what she was doing, Xanava released me and a storm of conflicting emotions clouded her expression. More than anything she looked disturbed. Tense moments passed while I wondered what I should do. Her voice startled me when she finally spoke.

“Twenty six.”

“What?”

“You asked how old I was. I’m twenty-six. Twenty-seven late this spring.”

I must have looked as confused as I felt, because she watched me closely. If she had intended to answer the damned question anyway, why that whole demonstration? Then an image of a great black wolf asserting dominance over her packmates flashed across my mind’s eye. Once I had submitted to her, there was no longer anything to prove. It was a profound moment of understanding about this mercurial woman.

Gently setting me aside, Xanava quickly washed her own hair and body before evacuating the tub. I hesitantly followed suit. What was bothering her so? She had accomplished what she wanted from me, ensuring that I was obedient and subservient. Unless…

Unless that was not what she wanted from me.

Pondering that train of thought, I toweled off and stepped into the bedroom to see her at the desk. Two white towels were draped negligently around her long frame. Some sentimental corner of my soul was disappointed not to see the paper that had finally taught me Theran.

“Go to sleep, Kitten,” she instructed quietly without looking up. I wanted badly to persuade her to sleep, but all I could do was curl up beneath my light blankets and watch her until my eyes drifted closed.

A soft noise woke me later. In the light from the desk’s lightcrystal, I could see Xanava’s slumped frame in her chair. “Strategos,” I called quietly and her head instantly snapped up and she blearily looked around. Wisely, I remained still and kept my breathing slow and even. Warriors were dangerous even unarmed, and while I had never queried after her Discipline, there was no doubt that we shared the Path of Peace. Only when Xanava’s gaze was solid on me did I dare move. “Please, Strategos, come to bed,” I coaxed gently. She allowed me to draw close and even met my reaching hand halfway. Pain shadowed her eyes and deepened the small lines on her face. It was like gentling a wild animal I led her to the large bed. There was not a sound from the Wolf as I drew back the bedding and turned back to her. The towels had fallen away and she was magnificent in the dim light. That impossible energy flared up between us as we gazed into one another’s eyes. Since meeting Xanava, I had been reluctant to truly examine the way she made me feel. I was feeling myself being drawn in ever more tightly to her. Swallowing hard, I gestured in the general direction of her closet. “Would you like to sleep in one of your big shirts?” My voice sounded nervous even to my own ears. She nodded and watched me like an unsure child. Something was truly disturbing her and I did not know enough to try to help. We wrestled her into the garment of soft, undyed fabric and crawled together into her big bed. “Please sleep, I won’t disturb you,” I begged softly and brushed her bangs back from her forehead. “I promise.” Again, I was reminded of a wary animal as I soothed her to sleep with my hands and voice. In time she was curled along the length of my much smaller body with her hands tucked between our chests and her breathing gentle against my collarbones, but that haunted distance in her gaze would not fade. My body was heavy with fatigue by the time she finally surrendered to sleep.

Xanava’s lazy stirring woke me and I was astonished at the angle of the sun peeking through the cracks in the shutters. It must be close to high noon. I knew if I moved, I would wake the Wolf, so I settled into her clinging embrace and watched her sleep. During the night she had wrapped herself around my small frame, arms clinging and her head heavy on my shoulder. Long, inky lashes spread delicately across her sculpted cheekbones and her eyes shifted restlessly beneath the lids. What was it about this stranger that fascinated me so? Was I merely desperate for someone to attach myself too? No, Lucky and Durc took care of that need, for I already loved them like brothers. So why did this tall, beautiful, human _woman_ make my heart race and my skin to grow warm?

When Xanava’s eyes fluttered open, she seemed unsurprised at my nearness. Her great yawn made me smile before she rolled away and rubbed her eyes. “Good morning, Kitten. Have you been outside the complex yet?”

“No. Durc said something about not giving anyone any ideas.”

“Smart man, that Durc. Does a trip to the Island sound interesting? There are amazing markets there and I need to be around something other than battle for a time.”

Neutral expression and candid words. Xanava’s mystery deepened. 

“I’d like that,” I smiled shyly and she grinned. There was something so scary, yet likeable about her.

“Excellent. Dress comfortably and meet me in the kitchen.”

My few pairs of clothing were in the slave’s barracks and I quickly changed into short pants and an open necked blouse Marta had kindly trimmed in burgundy to give me some color. Fortunately, I was small breasted and had no need for any support. As I was pulling my hair back into a tail, I felt the burn of her blue eyes. Slowly, almost coyly, I turned before dropping my hands.

“You look lovely,” she hummed and for the compliment I ducked my head and smiled. Xanava was resplendent in a tunic and pants in shades of blue, gray and gold.

“Breakfast?”

My eager question earned a grin. There were sausages left warming in the oven from this morning and we ate in a companionable quiet. Eventually, she brushed the crumbs from her hands and stood to stretch like a giant cat. “Done? Good, I just need to gather a few things and we’ll be on our way.”

Temporarily alone in the kitchen, I did some stretches to loosen up my muscles. Today they would be doing unaccustomed walking exercise. Then something caught my eye and I felt myself respond, perhaps not entirely the way I would have expected.

When Xanava returned, the hawk hatchet hung negligently from her belt and she bore a leather satchel. “Ready?”

A small movement drew her gaze to my right hand.

“I didn’t know if you would require this,” I whispered in a tense voice. Xanava strode over to wrap her larger hand around mine where the coils of the leash twined among our fingers.

“Are _you_ going to need it?” 

There was such a gentle concern to her that was such at odds to her stoic Warrior persona. Some of the tension drained out of me at her kindness. “I… I don’t know.”

My uncertainty was making me insane. My muscles were tight and my head sore from stress and the suffocating magic on my Pattern. Xanava was my only stability here and I still did not know exactly was required of me. Perversely, the leash seemed almost reassuring. It would make me behave, and that responsibility would not be mine.

“I’ll bring it,” Xanava said gently, “but I can’t imagine that it will be necessary.” So the leash was tucked into her belt as we walked together into the warm sunshine. In the courtyard, Agreth snuffled enthusiastically over me and earned laughter from both Xanava and the soldier who had been holding her reins. The big horse was in much better spirits this day and I fondly stroked her forehead and ears. Despite my unease around horses, Agreth had won me over. “It’s so odd,” Xanava chuckled as she effortlessly hauled herself into the saddle. “She’s never like this with people. Particularly ones she barely knows.” Then her hand was being held out to me and her eyes were dancing with fondness and good humor. “You must be truly special, Kitten.”

Was she flirting with me? It certainly felt that was and I was thrilled with it. So I let her pull my small weight into her lap. It was uncomfortable to be wedged in on the front of the saddle and against Agreth’s withers, but I would tolerate it rather than walk.

The isle of Thera is a wondrous place, full of sights and sounds and smells that overload the senses. I am no Troubadour and could do no justice to the place. Vast tracks of opulent, towering structures filled every available space. Entire tracks of houses and estates floated in the blue skies, held there by the power of True Air. Namegivers of every race and color and dress crowded the carefully paved streets. Many were dressed so ostentatiously that I was uncertain if I should be impressed or amused. Many a fellow Namegiver would hail Xanava to speak with her of business, politics or the ongoing conquest of Thera over the known world. Twice she even dismounted in what I could only assume was respect for the visitor. She was unfailingly polite but aloof. That rich voice could convey an amazing array of meaning.

Eventually, the living districts turned into a jumbled conglomeration of businesses and government buildings. The cacophony of stimuli coalesced into the barely controlled madness typical of any marketplace. I had seen many a marketplace in my days, from the sedate center of my Kaer deep underground to the immense cavern that held the capital city of Barsaive. This was something altogether different. Merchants hung from seemingly every window to hock their wares, musicians regaled the milling swarms with a discordant wave of instruments and voices. Smells from the spicy to the solid to the utterly strange and unfamiliar and wonderful filled the air. Every color of the world palate flashed and surged and danced.

I was in awe at the sheer spectacle of it all.

There was little doubt that Xanava was amused at my gawking. Her embrace had remained light and protective around me, one hand on my stomach or thigh and the other barely twitching at Agreth reins when necessary. Which appeared to be very rare. It was too loud for any questions, but I was quite content with staring like an eager child. I had one of the best views from atop Agreth’s towering back. There were many figures in black in all stages of dress and physical condition mixed into the crowds. There was even a slave auction we slowly moved passed and Xanava loose embrace tightened.

Then a faint wisp of smell caught my attention, bringing up my head like a hungry dog to scent the faint breeze carrying it. Of course, Xanava was intrigued. “What is it?”

We came around a corner to see the vastness of a singularly enormous body of water stretched out as far as the eye could see. There were the faint purple humps of distant lands beyond the sparkle of wind-agitated water. Mixed with the smell was the tang of sea air filling my lungs. It was exquisite, fresh and close like this. All these weeks with the strange smell of the water here had deadened my appreciation of it, until now. “I’ve never smelled water like this before.”

“It tastes of salt,” Xanava purred. “But that is not what caught your attention.”

“No,” I demurred and let my gaze play over the chaotic waterfront until I found what I was looking for. “That is.”

There was much that the t’skrang were famous for, but none more so than their spiced fish. Loss made my heart ache with memories. Since stepping into the sun over eighty years ago, I had eaten the delicacy on a constant basis. The fare here did not smell quite the same, but I still knew it. Agreth moved into the heart of the busy waterfront where I stared around in bittersweet fascination. This had been my existence for nearly a century, the colorful swirl of life among the t’skrang. How I missed my crew and friends at V’strimon. Xanava was speaking with someone as I fought down my emotions. Then there was a warm, heavy bowl in my hands and a blissful smell in my nose. It was possibly the most delicious thing I had ever had the pleasure of eating. Then Xanava found a tiny park where we could sit and enjoy the delicacies she had purchased. All of them were more exotic versions of the foods I was accustomed to and a few new ones to intrigue me. Marta cooked much heavier foods than I was accustomed to and the spices tended to be too strong or too bland. The t’skrang had spoiled me. Xanava seemed taken aback by my sudden appetite. It was happy and painful to watch the immature hatchlings romp across the carefully trimmed grass and structures built for play. Their chiadas watched and gossiped and played a variety of games with cards and colored markers and dice. Oddly, Xanava said nothing, but lazily watched both our surroundings and me.

She even offered a silver to one of the children if they would go and retrieve a cupful of water from the sea. The child looked puzzled and Xanava grinned winningly. “My new jeraleh has never before seen the sea.” Then the child grinned knowingly.

“Or tasted it, yes Strategos?”

“Indeed.”

“I’ll be right back!”

And with a flick of orange and blue tail, the child was off on the errand. Sleepy from a happily full belly and being on Agreth’s back, I yawned and earned a chuckle. There was a gentle hand coaxing me to lay down and pillow my head on Xanava’s belly where she lounged back on the grass. “Rest for a moment, Kitten.”

How the tall woman knew to tame me with gentleness was a mystery to me. I had always been uncomfortable with the softer emotions in fear that they would make me weak. Now I had no choice and I was discovering that they were making me feel safe and exhilarated. In a half-doze, I heard the patter of the hatchling’s feet and the murmur of thanks from Xanava. 

“A gift for you,” she murmured and I smiled. Taking the cup in my hands, I smelled the strong briny tang of the seawater before dipping my finger in. The explosion of flavor was like nothing I had experienced. Not all of it was pleasant and Xanava laughed at my wrinkled nose. “There are types of fish in these salty waters that live nowhere else. To the west of the Saelestran Sea is a body of this kind of water that stretches on for many months to distant, exotic lands.”

Months?

Was she serious?

Barsaive was a landlocked place, a land of great rivers and two lifeless seas that were truly just enormous lakes. One was the molten Death Sea and the other the stinking Aras Sea that vaguely resembled the smell of this sea, only without the clean tang. Perhaps from the circulation of that impossibly large sea that Xanava spoke of? As though sensing my disbelief, she tugged us both to our feet and led Agreth and I to the northwest end of the park. I gawked at the sight of two of the most enormous sailing vessels I had ever conceived of moored to docks the size of whole communities.

“Those ships ply the ocean, the great sea that seems to cover the whole earth. They have returned over the years with proof of other lands. Exotic woods and seeds that grow into strange fruit and vegetables and slaves who are unique in their looks and languages. The voyages are infrequent, but their return is always memorable. Come, we have shopping to complete and the day is growing late.” With a last, fond glance at the little park, I poured out the seawater and followed my mistress.

As we continued our meandering way through Thera, the sights still awed me. In an enormous courtyard, the surrounding buildings rose so impossibly high that the approaching night seemed much closer. Agreth was directed over to a dazzling storefront overflowing with fabrics of every color and shade. There were garments displayed of stupendous workmanship and impossible dyes, there were draping materials so gauzy they were like spider silk glittering with dew. Jewels flashed and magics made the fabrics glitter and dance as though alive. It was quite the spectacle.

After assuring that Agreth was comfortable in the stables, Xanava distractedly put a hand on the back of my neck and directed me into the shop. It was even more impressive from the inside, ablaze with color and alive with activity. There seemed to be hundreds of Namegivers at work here.

“Xan!” A great voice boomed like a firecannon across the busy establishment. I jumped, but Xanava merely hooked a couple of fingers into my collar and smiled. An enormous troll strode towards us with a huge smile on his bearded face. “If my old eyes don’t deceive me! What twist of fate has finally driven you to my humble shop?”

That smile of Xanava’s was back, the blinding one that shattered any pitiful defenses that I may have had. They gripped forearms in a comradely fashion and I shied away from their combined, looming masses.

“Kal, it’s good to see you again. How are the cubs?”

“Ah good, good. Young Selan is shaping up to be a right proper troll. Now if he only had the horns!” His laughter was a roar that would have been contagious under different circumstances. As it was, I was feeling twitchy and small and vulnerable and this big man was unnerving me. That primitive, animal part of my brain panicked and I jerked away. Not very far though, as Xanava still had a grip on my collar.

“Hey now. Pardon me, Kal, but my Kitten seems to have gotten herself all puffed up over something.” The fingers at my throat tightened up to pull me around and up onto my toes. Trying to avoid her eyes, I grabbed her wrist and fought for calm. “Enough Kitten,” she soothed softly and stroked my hair. “No one here will hurt you. Shhh…” The iron grip at my windpipe pressed her knuckles into my throat, damping down my struggles. As I quieted and sanity returned, she gentled even further even as frustrated tears filled my eyes. How I hated this weakness! “So you don’t like horses or trolls. Anything else I should know?” The lightly teasing tone relaxed me and I loosened my death grip on her wrists.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered and she smiled. I really meant it, which still surprised me.

“That’s alright, no one should expect you to adapt to your new life easily. Now come let me introduce you to Kal.”

He was truly gigantic, with sparkling green eyes and a weathered face lined with laughter and experience. Tentatively, I tilted my head back to look him in the eye and he grinned slowly. 

“Kal, this is my Kitten. She was a gift from Genarez. My boys and Marta put together a few outfits together, but I think a wardrobe is in order. A jeraleh should look the part.”

“Indeed,” Kal murmured and cupped my chin in one great hand. “Pleased to meet you, Kitten.” That gentle grip tilted my head this way and that. “You have beautiful eyes, like polished blue iron. And such wonderful sunset coloring in this expansive mane of yours.” He released me to eye the ceiling and tap his right tusk thoughtfully. “How to describe the color? Autumn foliage in the shade?” his laughing green eyes went from Xanava’s gaze to mine and I found myself smiling tremulously while she chuckled. “There’s your smile, pretty girl. Excellent! Come into the back where I can take some measurements.”

In a cluttered workspace, Kal sprawled into a well-loved chair built for him and gestured Xanava into another in more normal proportions. I wisely remained standing and obeyed his gesture to step closer. Thoughtfully, Kal traced one finger down my jaw and I felt no fear this time. “Let me see your hands,” he instructed and I obeyed curiously. Sensitive artisan’s fingers examined my hands along with his gaze. “You were sea folk, I can see it in your tan and the weathering of your skin. This band of reeds is fascinating; I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re built like a warrior of some kind and have the calluses to back it up.” My admiration of his quick assessment must have shone in my eyes. Now that I was calm, Kal carefully and clinically ran his great hands over my frame. It was nothing like the nasty men who had examined me at Xanava’s complex all those weeks ago, but I shivered a bit anyway. Kal patted me comfortingly and clucked in disapproval at the collar and cuffs. “Really, Xan, aren’t these just a bit melodramatic on your fair, delicate little Kitten here? Black leather over gold? Wait now, these aren’t gold at all. Is this…?”

Thick fingers toyed with the ring mounted in the collar beside the silver Wolf head. From her spot nearby, Xanava responded in an odd tone that gave me the distinct impression that she was trying not to laugh. “Yes, it’s orichalcum. The Admiral was none to pleased when the Kitten here blasted a hole in side of his beloved kila. She’s a Wizard and a Warrior and arguably a Boatman since she was the Captain of an enemy t’skrang warship. Genarez ensured that she is none of those things any longer.”

A frown deepened Kal’s craggy features but his eyes danced in amusement. “Shame on you, Kitten,” he scolded, barely able to keep from laughing. “Trashing the nice Admiral’s kila.” Despite myself, I again smiled shyly at his teasing. I was beginning to like this man. In a heartbeat, he was suddenly all business again. “So, Xan, what are we looking to accomplish here? A bold statement? Or demure? Sturdy or frivolous? Perhaps just a bit of color? Really, this traditional slave black is so old, there are many a slave I would love to dress up!”

While they discussed it, Xanava gestured me over to stand between her knees. When she tugged at the ties on my shirt, I flinched, but her warning glare stilled me. Panic welled up again and she ran comforting hands over my rigid muscles. Life in the kaer deep underground to weather the Scourge and later as the only elf among thousands of t’skrang had made me painfully self-conscious about my privacy. But I made no move to stop this woman as she slowly pulled the laces loose and tugged the shirt from my pants. Soon the force of her will had calmed me enough that she had been able to strip me to my skin and the ever-present orichalcum bonds. It was no wonder she dominated others so. Just the minor flashes of annoyance I had seen were enough to make me behave. Passions only knew what the glare would be like on full blaze.

A variety of qualities and patterns of black cloth were draped about my body while I stood and shivered lightly. The bright edge of panic and humiliation burned hot just beneath my skin. There were cloth remnants brought out by an army of workers to be perused. I felt like a trophy piece being prepped for display. There were a few workers that wore slave black, their clothing trimmed in bright colors. Knots on a string were used to take my measurements, each carefully tagged with a little piece of leather that the information was written on. Xanava and Kal watched over the proceedings and haggled over the items to be made and the price to be paid. There was quite the collection being made and an astounding amount of gold that Xanava calmly handed over. Then they suddenly up and walked out of the room, leaving me nervous, naked and alone in a mostly public place with my nerves frayed.

The panic welled up again and I had to wonder at my inability to control it. Was I truly that reliant on my magic? It was like the burn of fever, deep in my gut, a serpent coiled ready to strike, and spell primed in its Matrix, ready to explode. I was terrified at the energy inside me, of the pain sparking across the mystic bonds on my Pattern. A young elven girl stepped into the room and I scowled. She was tall, and I was tired of a lifetime of being painfully short. My expression made her pause and speak hesitantly. “The clothesmaster says I need to get a good look at you. It will help me in my work.”

Something about her bare throat snapped something loose inside me. Pain and rage spiraled out like an explosion underwater, an agonizing, electric pain radiating out from the collar. My vision was red and black with mana and agony. “Get… out,” I growled in a voice I did not recognize and could barely hear over the roar in my ears. The pain was building like a tidal wave. The girl seemed frozen as I wrestled with the angry beast within me. “Get out! Please! Before I do something I regret!”

Raw magic power burned along skin, bone and the places where blood and air ran through me, lighting up my True Pattern like a signal fire. Part of me wanted to set this place ablaze, make them _feel_ my agony and humiliation. Part of me was desperate for this madness to stop.

Only four times I had cast raw magic. Four times I had let the raw, uncleansed mana of the astral course through me. Each time it had been a different kind of agony. Too much power, too much corruption, too much pain. This sensation was not entirely different, as the collar and the spells contained within it fought with my need to be free.

Many years ago, I had found a certain balance with my inherently violent nature. Father had never understood that violence or the role it had played in my Discipline of the Warrior. As a Warrior I had begun to learn peace, as a Wizard I had found balance and as a Boatman, I had found contentment. Until I had awoken in these Passion-forsaken orichalcum bindings, I had never understood just how inherent my magics were to my self-control. 

I sank to the cold stone floor to curl into a tight ball and felt the quakes and fire rattle my small body. Then Xanava’s hands were on me, coaxing me to uncoil and find solace in her strength. Burying my face in her warm body, I sobbed and shook and hurt. She soothed me and spoke comforting nonsense to ground me. In time the storm began to calm. In those blissful moments, I was almost able to forget and enjoy the warm embrace wholeheartedly.

“Perhaps it’s time to take you home,” Xanava murmured and gathered me into her arms to stand. Silently, I nodded and clung tightly to her neck. Kal came in as Xanava was helping me dress where I sat across her thighs. There were a pair of tall soft boots in the color of red clay in his hand that quickly went on me in a perfect fit. The small gesture earned a watery smile and a hoarse ‘thank you’ from my rough throat.

The workroom was still smoking from my loss of control, things knocked over and fine cloth scorched and ruined. The destruction was probably going to cost Xanava a fortune and I cringed in horror at my loss of control. She seemed cool and aloof about it, but I suspected that she just might be angry at the situation. I was asleep in her arms the moment we settled into Agreth’s saddle.


	4. Chapter 4

An eternity later, I was woken by the sounds of revelry. Disoriented and confused, I looked around to see that the dusk-dark space was lit only by embers.

Xanava's bedroom.

Clearly I had fallen asleep after my breakdown at the tailor's, not even waking when removed from Agreth's back and put to bed. Those memories make me burn even now, anger, humiliation and hopelessness swirling together into a chaos of emotion.

Desperate to avoid what had happened to me earlier today, I stood and padded to the window to peek out. In the fading sunlight, I see the soldiers have turned the courtyard into a huge, impromptu party that included a bonfire and a wide variety of female and a few male whores. Some wore black and my stomach suddenly felt queasy.

How easily that could have been me. General Genarez would have used me a trophy piece, doing Passions know what to me. And as inevitable as the tides, I would have lost my temper and ended up in dire straights. As though conjured up by my thoughts, the gates swung open and a coach with guards thundered into the courtyard. Soldiers scattered before coming to quick attention. The uniformed guards professionally went to the door and took respectful positions. Clothed in royal finery and just as menacingly dark as I remembered, Genarez stepped from the carriage and looked over the nervous compliment.

“Congratulations on your victory. The Empire thanks you.”

The words rippled through the assembly as Genarez strode into the house and I lost sight of him. For a long time I sat in the near darkness of Xanava’s bedroom and listened to the festivities below. That creature that had stolen my freedom for no other reason than his own amusement was here in this house. Anger flooded through my True Pattern and it rippled with the power. Finally the pain of the collar suppressing it became too much and I curled up with a sob. How I hated him and this collar that robbed me of who I was.

“Warrior, Wizard, Boatman,” I chanted hopelessly to myself as I hugged my cold body and rocked in the darkness. “Warrior, Wizard, Boatman…”

Bright light woke me sometime later.

“There you are. Come Kitten, the Strategos wishes you in the dining room.”

There was no energy to fight the woman and I meekly followed. My earlier battle with the collar and its suppressive abilities had left me drained. Marta stripped me and scrubbed me down with the same efficiency she would have shown a side of meat or the household dogs. It was a bit chilling. She roughly brushed my hair back into a long tail while I dressed myself in the brief halter and loincloth. It was cold in the big stone house and soon my teeth were chattering.

“Cold Kitten? You’re normally more resilient than that. Hmmm…”

I was barely aware of Marta’s hand on my forehead through the haze that surrounded me.

“I think perhaps you’re a bit under the weather. We’ll tell Xanava in the morning. Sit.”

Warm socks and tall boots were wrestled onto my feet while I huddled beneath the blanket the woman had thrown around me. These had the kneepads on them and I wondered what I was being called out for. Cold anticipation settled hard and wary in my gut. This could not be good.

When Marta snapped a golden chain to my collar I balked. When I stepped into the dining room I froze. There he was, not ten feet from where I stood rooted to the floor. Cold dark eyes took note of me the way snakes must look at mice. He was terrifying.

“There. I told you she was well. Come in skittish one.”

Until she spoke, I had not even realized Xanava was there, half hidden in the shadows by the fireplace. Relief washed over me so powerfully that it left tears in my eyes. How glad I was to see her finally. There had been only glances since the troops had rode in. Clad in dark blues and pale silvers she was like a ghost until she leaned into the flickering firelight. Completely against my knowledge I moved to her like a moth to a flame.

“You remember the General, do you not?”

Betrayal and rage swept through me like a hurricane and the magic of the collar smashed across my Pattern like a physical blow. Blackness tugged on the edge of my vision as I sagged into the woman who owned my fate.

“Hush, hush Kitten… Hush,” that deep voice cooed to me like a mother to her child. Wounded and shaken, I curled into her strong body and held on for dear life. When had I ended up in her arms? Why did I feel so safe there? My entire small frame was tucked up against her reclined body, my legs and arms curled close to me. I could feel his cold eyes on me and huddled closer to Xanava.

“At least you understand why I put the collar on her in the first place.”

“I suppose having an angry Barsavian spellcaster around could be dangerous. What did she do anyway? You never told me.”

Was Xanava taunting Genarez? Suddenly the whole conversation was becoming very interesting and I gathered my dwindling resources to listen.

“Razor Orb is a lethal spell,” Genarez said in a voice like solid ice, but I could hear the anger lacing his tone. “If she wielded that so easily, I was not going to take any chances.”

A gentle finger slipped between the collar and my skin. As she teasingly slid that lone digit against me, her voice became low and sultry.

“Seems like so much trouble. Pure Orichalcum? Did you use her blood as well? What makes her worth your trouble?"

There was an icy silence as Xanava continued to stoke my skin. It was becoming more and more difficult to stay awake.

“She is unique among those cursed Barsaivians. That was reason enough. Why did you say yes to ownership of her?”

Now I was curious. Xanava’s body shifted beneath me as she propped her booted feet up on the table.

“Why did I say yes?” She mused thoughtfully and moved her hand to caress my half-naked back. “I like her fire, though obviously it angered you a great deal. It seems a shame to castrate such a magnificent creature. And I was appreciative of the reward you offered me for my years of loyal service to you, General.”

Suddenly the man began to laugh and I could not resist moving my head to try and see him. Xanava pressed me close and again stroked my traitorous body into calm acquiescence.

“Still the troublemaker as always, eh Wolf?”

“Always.”

And exhaustion overcame me.

 

Some time must have passed when Xanava’s hands soothed me gently awake. The two soldiers were talking, but it was obvious they were saying goodnight. Much to my surprise Xanava stood up still cradling me against her chest. They went to the main door where Genarez donned his cloak and collected his escort.

“Well Wolf, I look forward to seeing the latest report from you and your seconds. I seems odd and disturbing you met so little resistance this time around.”

“Agreed. They’re probably plotting something. Well goodnight general, safe journey.”

“Goodnight to you as well. Come on men.”

And they were gone. Immediately I relaxed and took note of her absently stroking my shoulder. For a long moment she stood in the darkened foyer and stared thoughtfully at the door. So I rubbed my head up against her jaw and earned a smile for my trouble.

“You don’t seem well my sweet. How are you feeling?”

“Not well.” I replied quietly and she hugged me closer. “Marta thinks I’m a bit under the weather.”

“We’ll get you some warmer clothes.”

Across the house she strode in that silent way of hers. It was pleasantly warm in the bedroom where Xanava laid me on the soft bed and stepped away to change clothes. Automatically, I rose to help and she stopped me with a look.

“Stay. You are not feeling well. As appreciative as I may be of your initiative, you need not strain yourself for me.” 

So I settled back into the bed and watched her through slitted eyes. There were no additional marks on her bronze skin that I could make out. Soon she came to where I huddled on the bed and loosened my boots. Truly I was beginning to feel ill, my skin hot, throat scratchy and muscles heavy. Mild sickness had not plagued me since I had claimed the Way of the Adept so many years ago.

“You’re sick Kitten.”

She sounded faintly surprised and I grumbled in irritated agreement. A smart smack across the backside earned a yelp and I glowered into laughing blue eyes.

“Don’t get cocky just because I’m sympathetic. Now strip and get under the covers while I check to see if I can find something to make you feel better.”

“Yes Strategos,” I mumbled and earned a sharp look. Perhaps I should not bait her. My plight could be far worse in the hands of someone who cared nothing for me at all. As soon as she came back I would tell her that I was sorry and I appreciated her care. Just as soon as she came back…

Again I was awakened by Xanava’s hands on me, only this time they were efficiently stripping my scant clothing away and rubbing something sharp-smelling across my chest.

“Wha..”

“Relax,” she purred and continued to work the ointment into my skin. It stung faintly and carried the scent of mint and seaweed and Passions knew what else.

“Now sit up and drink this. It tastes horrible, but it should help.”

There was no exaggeration to her statement and I fought the urge to gag from the concoction. A glass of cool berry juice helped and she pressed me again to the mattress, only on my front this time.

“A Name-Giver with a strong stomach. I can appreciate that,” she chuckled and massaged the ointment into my back. The faint burning seemed to penetrate my flesh to where my lungs were feeling tired and constricted. My breathing eased and I hummed in relief beneath her strong hands. Soon they turned curious, almost caressing as they mapped the terrain of shoulders and back. My muscles turned to water and sleep was coming to claim me yet again. So I stirred in effort to stay awake and her voice soothed me softly.

“Sleep my sweet. Sleep and heal.”

 

It had been a long time since the sounds of so many people moving about had roused me from sleep. Wooden swords clacked and horses blew and the low hum of conversation was punctuated by the occasional shout or laugh. After acknowledging the sounds I realized that Xanava was curled carefully around my much smaller frame in a protective embrace. The sword-callused hand rested on the arm I had curled beneath my head and her breath warmed the back of my neck. It was pleasantly intimate and comforting to be held like this and I was astonished to find how much I liked it. The things I learned about myself under duress…

This morn I felt better than I had the night before. Better-rested, not so sore and cranky but still with no desire to get out of the warm bed. Someone had added fuel to the fire at some point, and pulled the shades against the sunlight trying to sneak in. Long moments passed while I waited for Xanava to wake, certain my small movements had disturbed her. They had not and I carefully wiggled around onto my back and held my breath when she murmured something and cuddled closer. Long eyelashes cast silk shadows across those distinctive cheekbones. Her serious, expressive mouth was completely relaxed; slow breath passed through the fine nose to tickle my skin. This was my life for the foreseeable future. The thought hit me like a physical blow. I supposed it was a good thing I found this powerful woman fascinating. With a will of their own, my fingers reached out to touch the face so close to mine, and the crystal blue eyes fluttered open. I froze and found myself silently studying the incredible spectacle of that beautiful gaze. The blue radiated out like the spokes of a wheel in variations of color from the palest robin’s egg to the deepest depths of the seas.

“Go ahead,” she whispered quietly, her gaze flickering to my frozen hand. Unable to resist the temptation, I caressed the lines of her features, the silky texture of her skin. Her encircling arm stroked my back and side gently as though she was trying not to disturb my intent examination of her. Finally she smiled and I was astonished at the way the expression felt against my hand.

“Feeling better with a good night’s sleep?”

If the feel of her devastating smile had astonished me, the feel of her gentle breath was an utter shock to my system. Mutely I nodded and her grin deepened.

“Excellent. You still look a bit pale though, maybe not quite yourself yet?”

Again I nodded and she furthered my speechlessness by kissing my palm softly before she rose. With the grace of a jungle cat she stretched and glanced at me.

“Stay in the bed Kitten. Rest and quiet will fix what ails you. Food will be here soon.”

Quickly dressing, she left the room to tend to the household. I was left with my thoughts and emotions in turmoil. Fate may have stolen my freedom, but I seemed all too ready to hand my heart to this woman. 


	5. Chapter 5

Things were tense and hazy around the house for the next few days. I slept for nearly a full rotation of the sun, and finally dragged myself from the bed feeling like something the ship’s cat had dragged in. Xanava spent her time at her desk while I avoided everyone, including the men. Then a soldier arrived with an urgent message and the Division immediately scrambled into action. Lucky carried Xanava’s armor and gear past my small bed and into the bathing room. Soon the Wolf stomped out in all her Warrior’s glory. 

Cold and regal, she swept past me with her dark cloak swirling. How well I knew the look of distraction on her face. How many Namegivers had died because of the emotions behind that expression? I could not allow it to happen again. Not to that magnificent creature of ice and fire. Some twist of fate had brought us together and I finally seemed to be willing to accept that.

The milling crowd of soldiers and beasts almost made me lose my nerve. Then I saw Agreth standing patiently and Xanava preparing to mount up.

“Hey watch it!” Ignoring the soldier I had startled, I ducked around beast and Namegiver alike to grab Xanava’s arm. Halfway into the saddle, she looked down in surprise and dropped back to the ground.

“What is it, Kitten?” Her aggravated tone made me wince, but I steeled my nerve and stepped in close to rub my cheek against her chin. Abruptly, I had her undivided attention. Still on my toes, I nuzzled the soft skin of her jaw and she tilted her head closer. We met halfway, the kiss shy and tentative. Strong arms curled around me with the creak of stiff leather and my heart soared. When I felt her hesitate, a low note of desire echoed deep in my chest. Everything faded away as we gradually learned this particular dance together. This what I needed from her, those curious hands on my back and hips and that soft sound of want. When we did finally come up for air, Xanava buried her face in my hair and panted against my sensitive ear tip. A self-satisfied grin curled my lips as I breathed in the soft scent of her black tresses. 

“Please come home safe,” I whispered and she squeezed me hard in response. There was something new in her eyes when she reluctantly pulled away. After a moment, she hauled herself onto Agreth’s back, but paused to gently curl her hand around my jaw. That gauntleted thumb brushed sensuously against my lower lip and I shivered.

“I will, I promise,” she whispered intensely and the crowd began to fall into place around us. “I’ll miss you.”

Forcing her attention away, Xanava straightened up and tugged Agreth’s head around. I watched silver and black vanish into the growing dusk and ignored the thunder of the departing Division around me. When at last the big courtyard was empty, I hugged myself sadly and spoke to the uncaring dark.

“I’ll miss you too.”

 

It took some kittenish flirting to convince Marta to let me into the library. From that moment on, she became far friendlier with me. In thanks for the new room full of entertainment, I did not spend every spare moment with the books, but instead let her gossip incessantly at me. It was rare that I responded, but she seemed to relish the captive audience. The boys were sent away for a couple of weeks to work at other locales and I grew lonely. Thank goodness for the library or I would have gone mad with boredom. There were texts on history, Legendary tales, battle tactics and an exquisite collection of romantic poetry. Such a variety of tastes my mistress had! How badly I missed her…

One night, I sat curled up on the low divan by the fireplace, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket when a voice startled me. “Isn’t this cozy.”

It was Lucky, grinning cockily at me. I was so glad to see him that he grunted and was rocked back by my flying hug.

“I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Kitten.”

“Where have you been?”

The petulant lower lip earned a chuckle and tweaked my ribs affectionately. I was far to old to be acting like this, but it struck the right chord with the people around me. Giving up my iron control was making me feel like a giddy adolescent. A quick peck on the forehead and Lucky waved me away to my chair. “Sit and I’ll tell you everything.”

That night he gave me a lesson in the incredible complexity of the Theran nobles. I had read some and observed far more, but the game ran far deeper than I had realized. Being away at battle so often left Xanava open for political assault. Fortunately, she had excellent connections, sheer personality, was born of a Noble house and had two very dedicated ork slaves to protect her. They really adored her, I had never really noticed before. Durc and Lucky had both been born slaves and were quite content to belong to such a benevolent mistress. Both men had, however, been utterly shocked when she had come home all those nights ago with me in tow. It was so unlike her to own something as frivolous as a pleasure slave. The boys had a purpose in the house, but I was something different. Then they had watched the feelings between us grow and began to hope their aloof Warrior and this scared Barsavian might have something special.

“She really does care about you,” Lucky assured me and I grinned shyly. “For one thing, she isn’t the cute nickname type of person, but Kitten suits you.” My scowl made laugh because he knew I did not mean it. “And she’s never really affectionate with anyone but Agreth.”

Oh thank you,” I huffed sarcastically. “Put me in the same category as the horse.”

“Take the compliment! If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was a Cavalryman. She might even _need_ you and she has everybody convinced that she doesn’t need anyone. Especially herself.”

There was so much to think about.

 

I whiled my time away with my new wardrobe and learning to paint. Many years ago, I had felt the urge to learn, but had always considered a new artisan skill to be too frivolous. Only now did I actually try it. Color on canvas helped me through the trauma and loneliness that still plagued me.

While still a youth in Kaer Salentheil, I had learned to carve runes in stone and later in crystal and metal. That was my proof that I carried none of the Horror’s evil taint within me and I took it as seriously as any sane Namegiver. My missing Thread Items were covered in the tiny etchings and I continuously missed them and their presence in my Pattern. After emerging into the glorious sunlight over eighty years ago, I quickly understood my people’s affinity to wood. But it was not until I joined the t’skrang on the Serpent River that I began telling stories. The people of the river took many years to accept me. 'The K’choss na Erawyrm, the War Between the Elves and the T’skrang' was still told to the hatchlings to teach how their ancestors had won control of the mighty Shivoam with the gift of the fire engines from the Passions. Looking back, I think it was the stories that finally won me a place among them. Dozens of their beaked faces turned to me with absolute attention, strong tails and clawed hands pounding out their approval. How I missed my t’skrang family and the beauty of House V’strimon. Every night I faced the north and sent a silent goodnight to the great Dragon of the River.

Marta also taught me to work with cloth. For more than two hundred years I had rebelled against anything even remotely resembling embroidery. It was my last small resistance to learning the Way of the Wizard that my familial heritage had effectively forced on me. Only the basics were left in my hands at first: curtains, tablecloths and the soldier’s utility clothes and the like. It quickly became apparent to everyone that I had a knack for the skill and it was excellent therapy. Marta and Lucky together began to budget in my new hobby. Finer and finer cloths were given to me and the projects grew more complicated. Eventually Marta even arranged for me to work with Kal a few days a week and I grew very fond of the big man who had initially unnerved me so.

And the summer passed.

 

As autumn approached, the days grew a bit chillier, though Marta informed me, “the spellcasters won’t let it get too cold. Never have before, and not likely to start now!” I believed her, because there were no rough winds and the floating buildings never moved more than a few lengths in any direction. The rains made it through the protective spells though, because water was a vital resource in this saline sea. The storms actually grew into torrential downpours that were awesome to behold, even as it was strange to have so little wind. 

In one of those brutal rainstorms, I was curled up in my favorite chair in the library, fighting sleep. The sound of the pounding rain was soothing where it echoed through the halls and in the open door. Suddenly the night was split by a shout. “It’s the Strategos! Open the gates! They’ve got wounded!”

Why in the Names of the Passions would Xanava bring wounded here? There were no facilities that I knew of and the division was many Namegivers strong. Running to the bedroom, I yanked on warmer clothes and flew to the front doors. Snarling lightning flashed in the distance, great sheets of it illuminated an agitated Agreth leading a train of beasts and wagons. Xanava gestured from building to building and the orderly procession began to disperse. Suddenly a young soldier melted from the darkness to grab my arm. He was battered, exhausted and spooked. “Do you know any healing?”

Something was wrong; I could feel it in my bones. At my nod, he grinned with relief and waved at his fellows. Two wagons drew close and soldiers moved into action. A half-dozen of them each lifted a Namegiver-sized lump slung in tarps and struggled off of the wagons. Some were in slings or limping badly. Three tarps were carried inside the house before Xanava stomped in and bolted the door behind her. The feeling of wrongness grew choking in my chest.

“We did it,” a woman sighed as she removed her helm and let her rain-soaked cloak drop to the floor. The others did the same before moving to the three tarps where the most injured lay. I kept my eyes trained on Xanava even as the feeling of horror tightened around my heart. As she turned, the helmet came off and I nearly fainted.

It was not her.

The rattled young ork woman in the Strategos’ armor and weapons dropped the helm and slumped against the door. “Now comes the hardest part,” a grizzled troll I recognized grumbled. “Kitten!” His bark nearly sent my heart flying from my chest like a startled windling, but I swallowed it back down and went to him. With a yank at the tarp, he confirmed my worst fears. There was the Wolf, pale and unconscious, wrapped in soaked furs. A strong hand on my arm snapped my horrified attention back to the troll. “I’m Tombin, remember?” I nodded slowly with the memory. “She spoke highly of you and we’ll need your help if any of us are to survive this. Get what you need for a nasty sword wound and we’ll get her moved to her room.”

“Yes sir,” I whispered and he almost smiled before turning back to the other soldiers. 

“Mera! Shan! Thacker! Get your tired butts up and let’s get her moved. Careful now.”

How could this have happened? My mind was in a frenzy as I ran for the kitchen. Suddenly my world had just gone chaotic again. There was a presence nearby and I whirled around. It was the young ork in Xanava’s familiar armor. “Do you need a hand?” She smiled tremulously and stretched out both gauntleted hands beseechingly. “Maybe two?” Haunted brown eyes begged me for something to do. I swallowed my own raging emotions and nodded.

“Get out of those wet clothes before you get any worse of a chill. Throw them over that butcher block over there and get those weapons dry. We’ll need hot water to clean the Strategos up.”

Nodding gratefully, the girl went to work while I finished raiding the kitchen. When I crept into the bedroom, two of the men stepped aside to let me in. The human woman who had spoken earlier was helping Tombin strip Xanava down. It was awful to see the vibrant woman so limp and lifeless. “Thacker,” Tombin grumbled. “Give us a hand.” The middle-aged ork brushed past me and helped his fellows lift Xanava’s slack body onto the bed. Again, Tombin’s big hand startled me. “You help Shan and we’ll check in on the two of you later. Everyone else out!”

Moment’s later I was alone with the human woman. Shan was rubbing my sleep shirt over Xanava’s face and arms. “Quit hovering and help me,” she finally grunted and I hastened to obey. Filthy, bloody bandages encircled Xanava’s entire ribcage. Quick strokes of Shan’s dagger had the wrap away from her grayed skin while I nervously arranged the herbs and medicines I had pilfered from the kitchen.

Everything had happened too fast for me to acclimate. As our hands pulled away the tattered bandages and my breath caught in horror.

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Shan grumbled. “Some thrice-damned Adept put a sword right through her and ripped it out the side before she nearly cleaved him in two. We managed to sew up and reinflate the lung and remove two ruined ribs. All that and she’s somehow still alive.”

The admiration in Shan’s voice was unmistakable. At least I was not the only one who was under the big woman’s spell. Mera stumbled in with a pot of steaming water.

“Here it is, anything else?”

My hand brushed across Xanava’s beautiful features, gray and flushed with reaction to the hideous wound in her side. Beneath my touch she stirred slightly and moaned. Instantly, the attention of the two soldiers focused. It occurred to me then that Xanava had not so much as stirred since being wounded. Tears filled my eyes and my throat tightened painfully. Leaning in close, I whispered brokenly in her ear.

“Sweet Wolf, come back to me, I’m begging you.”

Captivity would be unbearable without the strange bond of understanding between us. A quick kiss was laid on a clammy cheek before I sat back and wiped my eyes.

“There’s a nasty fever building. I’m sure we’re all aware how strong and dangerous she is. She’ll have to be restrained until it passes. Mera? Will you please get Agreth’s reins for me? And some good, strong rope?”

After a quick nod, Mera was gone and I glanced over to Shan. She had mahogany hair, plain features and quizzical cinnamon eyes.

“Go on Kitten, I’m listening.”

“Did you sew up the outside?”

“Yeah. Don’t know if it held though.”

A hiss escaped me at the hot bite of the water. Pulling the drenched cloth from the pot, I flicked it out and climbed back onto the bed. Washing did not appear to be helping the appearance of the wound. Angry red skin seemed to glow in the firelight and the hastily sewn edges of the wound sneered maliciously at me.

“Passions,” I breathed quietly. With a quick shake, I continued to mop off Xanava’s skin. To my supreme disappointment neither the wound or her skin tone got much better. Shan sterilized some linen as best she could while I dressed the angry wound. Somehow I held my emotions in check and brutally concentrated on the task at hand. Soon Xanava’s limp body was bandaged snugly and I tried my best to arrange her comfortably.

“Shan?” The human woman looked over at the sound of my tentative voice. “You can take my bed for one of the wounded soldiers. I won’t be using it any time soon.”

Cinnamon eyes flickered from my face to my hand where it was stroking Xanava’s raven hair. A smile ghosted across her features and she nodded in understanding. Mera returned with the items I had requested and I noticed her limp. Once I tore my attention from Xanava I also realized that Shan was favoring her left side. They actually allowed me to bully them out of armor and uniform to treat their wounds. An arrow puncture was old news to me, as it was the most common wound on the Serpent River. Shan hissed a few times while I expertly cleaned and dressed the small wound. Violent bruising on the back of Mera’s thigh was casing the limp. The young woman shrugged it off, but allowed me to bind up the knee and thigh for support anyway.

“Mera,” Shan suddenly spoke up suddenly as the three of us cleaned up. “You’re going to have to keep impersonating the strategos.” A sharply raised hand stopped the young woman’s protests. “You’re the only one close enough in build to pull it off and we all know it. Any enemies _cannot_ know how bad off she is. Don’t bother to try and hide that limp, just walk proudly and keep the helm on. Okay?” There was a reluctant nod from Mera and Shan patted the young soldier. “Let’s go see how the others are doing. Kitten, Tombin’ll be in to see you and the strategos soon.”

Suddenly, I was alone with Xanava’s wasted body. I held my emotions at bay for a bit longer by readying her limbs to be tied down. Heavy, soft cloth was wrapped around forearms and lower legs. It took some time to pick out the knot from the wet reins and tie them around her arms from wrist to elbow. By this time Xanava had begun to twitch restlessly and her body grew warmer with every passing handful of minutes. Quickly tying her legs securely, I struggled to secure her to the four short bedposts. After packing rags around her groin for hygiene, I settled in to wait.

Time blurred to a haze to me. Wet rag to try and cool her burning skin, soft touches when the fever dreams caused her to thrash and cry out. How many times had I sat with wounded Name-Givers while they fought this battle? Elves in the darkness of the kaer, t’skrang on the surface and shores of the mighty Shivoam, strangers who crossed my path. Men, women, children, old, young, rich and poor. How many had died?

That thought finally cracked my tears loose. That was how Durc found me. Strong arms gathered me up and cradled me until I calmed.

“If anyone can survive this, it’s the Wolf.” Tombin’s comment made us both look at him. To my surprise the old ork chuckled and shook his head.

“What’s so funny?”

A warning squeeze from Durc reminded me to watch my tone. Another chuckle escaped Tombin and he waved negligently at us.

“She sure can pick ‘em. A feisty little elf and a big, quiet ork. Never known anything quite like you two. No wonder she wanted to come home so badly this time.” While he spoke he had been standing over Xanava with an inscrutable look on his face. A long moment passed before he shook himself out and pinned us with an intense expression. “If she survives the night, she’ll probably live. If not...”

On that ominous note, he left. Again tears welled up and I buried my head in Durc’s chest. In the last three seasons I had cried more than I had in a hundred years. Sweet Durc just rocked me and cooed quietly. At some point I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, Xanava’s thrashings were waking me. My small body had been carefully curled along her uninjured side and a blanket thrown over both of us. Helplessly I tried to calm her movement with my insignificant weight.

“Please, please lie still, you’re going to pull that side apart. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

By some miracle my voice seemed to calm all but the worst of the heat waves. So I talked, dredging up stories and memories from my centuries of experience. My life in the depths of the earth where my father had been so horrified that I had taken on the Discipline of the Warrior. I spoke of my small family, my first glimpse of the sun, the first touch of rain on my face. At length I spoke of the Serpent river and my beloved adopted family of the House V’strimon t’skrang. Once her eyes opened and I stared into the hazy blue depths. There was no doubt in my mind that she had no idea what was going on around her. At some point Lucky came in to force me to eat something. While he chatted at our ailing owner, I assuaged my body’s hunger. As the windows grew black again, Shan returned and we changed the bandages. Xanava’s frenzied thrashing made the task nearly impossible and we were finally forced to tie her down at shoulder and hip. As we doctored her side Xanava’s cries turned into piteous moans and sobs. Shan looked disturbed at her powerful leader’s obvious weakness. How could she survive this?

Sweat drenched the sheets and the cloth wrapped around her torso and limbs. Her lips were dry and cracked from dehydration and she had seemed to grow visibly thinner. Blue eyes were still dilated and murky when I peeled open an eyelid. As the night wore on I continued to talk to her as various people came and went. Slowly but steadily Xanava grew weaker and quieter. All I could do was bathe her with a cool cloth and try to keep her fever-drugged attention. Her breath gurgled alarmingly deep in her chest and the action took more effort than it should have. Worry and exhaustion wore away at me until I was a trembling wreck. I spoke at length about the t’skrang and how hard they had been on me when I had first come to me. They had slept through the Scourge and the war over the river between our two peoples was not so old to them. Time and time again they pushed me farther than I thought I could go. But I adapted, tail or no tail. Once they were satisfied, I suddenly had a family the likes of which I had never experienced before. I told Xanava about my few visits to the Kingdom of Throal where the dwarves lived beneath the mountains they had hollowed out to survive the Scourge. I spoke of the great trading city of Urupa that lay in House V’strimon waters and the sights there. With sobs shaking my voice, I told her of the difficulties and rewards of learning the Boatman Discipline and becoming captain of one of the sleek battleships. My tears fell on her slack features and despair enveloped me as the sky outside once again grew light.

A small sound woke me and I realized with a start that I had dozed off. Half sprawled across Xanava’s chest, I listened to the beat of her heart while I regained my bearings. It took precious moments to realize her pulse was calm and steady. Wild hope brought my head up to stare into Xanava’s face. Her breath was still heavy in her chest but her eyes were slitted open the tiniest bit. My own heart pounded wildly in my breast as I leaned in closer to her.

“I know this is a ridiculous question.” I breathed across her dry lips, “but how do you feel?”

A smile ghosted across her face and I nearly fainted with relief. Slowly her beautiful eyes fluttered open to disappoint me with their red and gray appearance. Dry lips moved but no sound emerged. A quick twist of my body put the tall glass of water to my hands.

“Just let me, don’t exert yourself.”

Cupping a hand beneath Xanava’s matted hair, I gently propped her up and fed her tiny mouthfuls of the sweet water. Soon her eyes glazed over with exhaustion and I gently lay her back down. Then I wondered if I should untie her. The lingering warmth of her skin persuaded me to wait. Still moving her mouth wordlessly, Xanava finally gave into a quiet sleep. For a very long time I lay curled along her undamaged side and pondered both this beautiful enigma and my own feelings.

Nearly the entire day passed before Tombin declared with a laugh that Xanava needed a bath. She was still too weak to do more than eye him when he gathered her into his strong arms.

“Kitten, go put a foot or so of warm water in that tub.”

Without hesitation, I scrambled for the bathroom and did as the man said. Tombin set his precious burden down on a stool and walked out. Glassy blue eyes followed my movements, their scrutiny making me hyper-aware.

“Good to see you alive strategos,” Shan’s voice shifted the energy in the room. Curiosity arched Xanava’s ebony eyebrow as Mera stepped in wearing the distinctive black armor. Nervous energy arched off the ork as she began to sweat beneath the heavy gear. Fortunately Shan began to explain as she went to Xanava to take a look at that side. “Mera here has been stalking about the grounds with just enough of a limp to make it believable that you just came of the battlefield. While I don’t envy her that mace bruise on her thigh, it’s proven to be convenient.”

A slow nod was Xanava’s only reply. Both Mera and I flew to our leader’s side as she hissed in pain from the bandages being removed. Strong hands grabbed us both and she buried her face into the side of my head.

“Easy now,” Shan soothed as she worked. Soon the wrapping fell away and she made an approving sound. “As often as I’ve seen a Warrior’s ability to heal, it never ceases to amaze me.”

Sure enough, the horrible wound had settled into a sullen, ruddy crease of swollen scarring tissue. The place where another Adept had run her through with a sword before tearing it sideways out of her damaged body had already nearly healed. Only the rattle in her chest and her weakness from the fever remained. Until my ordeal here in Thera, I too had those recuperative powers. Now it was somewhat frightening to behold.

“C’mon Mera, give me a hand here.”

The two soldiers brushed me aside to carefully lift Xanava into the waiting tub. Quietly, they left and I began to smooth a sponge over her lanky frame.

After the bath, Xanava shakily stood on her own and glowered at me as I sidled up under one arm. My grin seemed to disarm her. I understood that she needed to do this for herself, but I could still help. Shan seemed annoyed that the strategos was up on her own two feet, but held her tongue.

That night the coughing began. Racked with the agonizing spasms, Xanava clung to me and whimpered like a child. Dark blood and infectious fluids finally came up from the healing lung but left her hurting and feverish again. How she survived is a mystery I cannot solve. On the fourth night of the ordeal she finally opened one eye and whispered my pet name. Tears threatened but I was determined to be strong for her. That night we both slept easily, safe in the circle of one another’s arms.

“I...didn’t keep... my promise to you.”

During the night Xanava had nestled up against my back and we lay like spoons together. Carefully I squirmed onto my back and searched her pale face.

“Promise?”

“To... come home to you... safe.”

How regretful she looked. My loving grin took her off guard and I boldly traced her strong features with my fingertips.

“I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Relief softened her face and she clung to me again.

That day Xanava forced herself to get up and begin the process of ensuring that her reputation was unmarred. How quickly she tired in those days and easily she turned to me for strength. It was strange how fluid the roles were between us in those dark times. Her body would not rest quietly unless we touched. Nor would mine.

When I awoke alone for the first time since Xanava’s return I was supremely disoriented. Sturdy clothing had been laid out for me and I took the hint. Through the open window I could see my beautiful owner lightly sparring with Mera. Quickly I dressed and went to the main entrance. Bathed in the unseasonably glaring sunlight, she looked strong and almost healthy. But I could tell she was still favoring that side.

When my presence was noted, it was by the young man who asked about my healing skills that horrible night. His smile and wave earned the same from me. That movement drew the Wolf’s attention and she negligently waved Mera away. As she approached, her warm grin was only for me.

“Good morning Kitten. Sleep well?”

Gentle fingers brushed against my cheekbones.

“Yes. I wondered where...”

Suddenly my voice died away at the exquisite touch of her fingertips on my ear. Breath seized in my throat and hot reaction washed through my nerves. A soft moan escaped me and I pressed my skull against her hand. Xanava was fascinated by my response and her delighted grin turned sensual.

“My, my. You _are_ sensitive. Come here.”

Fingers curled around the curve of my skull and her thumb continued to brush my sensitive ear tip. Through the haze of my arousal, I saw her head lower but had no time to prepare myself for her kiss. The world around us faded away as we learned one another again.

That night she made me hers. Memorized me with hands and mouth and made me learn myself anew. In time I returned those lessons with no hesitation. Sometime in the wee hours of morning I woke unexpectedly to study her relaxed face in the low firelight.

How I loved her...


	6. Chapter 6

Appearances are not always what they seem. Like my Warrior with the sensitive soul of a poet and a harnessed rage that made gahad --the famous violent energy of the orks-- fade in comparison. Xanava was just as much a prisoner of both her structured society and the orichalcum bonds on my body as I was. 

Only her bonds were all on her soul.

Slowly, but noticeably, Xanava began to change. No longer were we possessions, but family and friends. She warmed to Durc and Lucky, joined us in our harmless games of cards and dice when she could. Gradually, she asked our opinions on politics and religion, and quickly grew to appreciate our combined wisdom and intelligence. We were allowed unexpected freedoms with the loyal soldiers of the compound and the expanded circle of family eased frustrations and boredom. The troops conversed with us, played games and let us practice fight with them.

When the troops were away at battle, I spent immeasurable hours at Kal’s shop in the busy shopping district. He flattered me that my quick hands were becoming invaluable to him. I loved the fatherly attention, completely uncaring that I was two centuries his elder. There was something grandfatherly about him and he was a stout companion and champion. Marta was akin to an adored, if not aloof, aunt. 

It was a surprisingly good life.

Never in my long years would I have expected that a simple life would suit me, but somehow it did, even if it was planted and nurtured in trauma. I had survived far worse. My Wolf somehow managed to spend a bit more time at home that was her Warrior custom, playing the political games of her linage and position. It was hard to tell which was harder on her, the bloody warfare or the mind games.

It was so strange to be her slave and yet her strength in those times. 

Many seasons passed in this manner.

There were good times and bad. One summer, the Slavery Guild came to the complex to check things out. It was like being invaded and thrown into chains all over again. They were distrustful of our freedoms and the fact that the three of us were unafraid of their power. Xanava was annoyed at the political attention from that incident, but it ended up playing out in her favor. After all, who can berate an aristocrat for maintaining a clean, successful and well-disciplined household?

There was only one major thorn in Xanava’s side that she could neither ignore or eliminate. A distant cousin and a fellow Warrior in Ganarez’s troops. A blonde madwoman named Calla was that adversary, and her favorite game was to torment Xanava.

Over the years, the chess game between them grew more and more tense. The day Calla showed up at the gates for the latest round, was a memory I would never forget.

Nor would I forget the way she looked at me, the way a hungry cat eyes a mouse. There was no doubt that she saw me as one more way to get at Xanava. The realization was terrifying.

Just days short of the fifth anniversary of my enslavement at the hands of the K’tenshin, it finally happened. Rough hands snatched me from Xanava’s bed, binding and gagging me, no matter how violently I struggled. I was hardly surprised to find myself chained to a wall with Calla pacing around me like a curious predator.

“I must say, Kitten,” she drawled sarcastically. “I hardly see what fascinates the Wolf so. Perhaps we’ll just have to wait and see, hmm?”

A very, very long time passed in that featureless room. The violent bruises from my capture faded as my mind grew frenetic with boredom. While the situation with Calla was not as traumatic as my initial incarceration, this captivity seemed endless.

I told myself stories in those long hours where the dim light never changed. Reminisced over my childhood in bad light like this, never knowing what brightness was. The glare of the sun had been a miracle that stunned me deep down in my soul. The massive, winding blue miracle of Shivoam, the River Dragon, the mighty Serpent River was just as life-altering. As though I had an eager t’skrang audience yet again, I talked and talked and talked, translating my many experiences into words as best I could.

Bland food and water was passed through a small trapdoor, as was cold wash water and soapsand. Only six times did I actually interact with another Name-Giver. Twice when my cell was cleaned, once a healer came when I grew ill and the three times Calla came to gloat. She was like a bad dream, I hardly believed she was real after being alone for so long.

Then, as suddenly as I had been captured, I was woken up by firm hands on me. Blinking in the perpetual dimness, I stared up into laughing green eyes. “Hi,” the handsome stranger purred almost soundlessly. “I was sent by the Wolf. Took far too long to find you, but I finally did it. Come on then, let’s get you out of here.”

It was a stealthy game of cat and mouse played out across the complex where Calla ruled from. We were almost out, skulking along the perimeter wall, when someone finally sent up the alarm. “Oh, for the sake of the Ancestors,” my rescuer grumbled. “Okay, Kitten, let’s get you out of here and I can deal with covering your tracks.”

Suddenly having someone to talk to was making me unaccountably shy. But I had no choice but to trust this androgynous Thief with my fate. That fate came in a strange form.

A griffin. Prancing and pulling at it’s lead, the creature was silent except for it’s agitated shuffling. “Hey gorgeous,” the Thief cooed and hoisted me onto the animal’s back. “She’ll take good care of you, Kitten. See you both soon.” A friendly slap to the griffin’s rump sent her vaulting into the air. I hated flying, hated it nearly to a point of being phobic. So disoriented by the chaos at the end of my long incarceration, I hardly comprehended what exactly was going on until the ground fell away.

The griffin grumble-chirped at me when I clung with desperation to her feathered neck. The glittering lights of Thera twinkled in my watering eyes as terror burned away the stupor of my long isolation.

But until I was dropped at Xanava’s gates, the soldiers herding me in, and pressed into familiar arms, I didn’t really completely snap out of it. Blue, blue eyes, awash with tears, were a siren call that my weary mind and body couldn’t resist. Breathing her name like a benediction, I clung to Xanava and sobbed in relief. 

 

The fallout was ugly, and nearly came to bloody battles in the streets of Thera. It took a late night visit from Generez himself to stop the chaos. All I could do was cower at the end of the hall as he dressed Xanava down in his cold tones.

Something changed after that, something profound. It was as subtle as the slow shift from night to day, but just as intense. With the attention and care of my strange family, I recovered quickly. Even Marta spoiled me in those stressful days. After a month of Xanava’s constant push and pull contests with Calla, I jumped on her, aggressively reinstating our physical bond. Ganerez’s frightful voice was a good incentive. She was tentative with me, seeming to be wary of my advances. It didn’t last long.

In the darkest hours of night, we lay tangled together in a satisfied stupor. The woman was a fantastic lover, adventurous and tireless. I lay sprawled against her long body, while she caressed my back and hair.

“I’m sending you back to Barsaive.”

The softly spoken words lay in the shocked silence of the room. Too stunned to react for a long moment, I slowly raised myself to an elbow and stared down at her fierce expression. Slowly, Xanava reached out to stroke my face, her eyes wounded and intense, her fingers dropping to the heavy collar I barely noticed anymore.

“I cannot bear you living in captivity for a season longer. I’ve grown to love you dearly, Kitten, and I want you away from here and back to your river. Three nights from now, the Thief who rescued you from Calla will smuggle you onto a boat that will in turn take you to Urupa. I think I’ll send the boys with you. Things are too dangerous and unpredictable here to ensure their safety. I only wish I could remove these forsaken things from you. But I’m no spellcaster.”

Freedom… she was giving me back my freedom. I was so stunned that I could only stare.

Why did the prospect not sound nearly as appealing as it should?

 

The next three days were extremely quiet around the household. I subtly said my goodbyes to everyone, careful not to tip them off and get Xanava in trouble. There were the sturdy soldiers, beloved Marta and Agreth, the horse I never thought I would actually like. The boys and I quietly prepared traveling clothes and packs. Xanava and I spoke little during the quiet preparations. I knew that I couldn’t stay, even as that was what my heart cried for. So I remained brutally torn between that impossibility and my upcoming extraction. 

At last the day came and the sun sank low against the backdrop of the city. I found Xanava seated at the desk which still fascinated me so, and stood against the backdrop of the sunset until she acknowledged me.

There were no words, only the desperate heat and emotions that left me forever branded. Wild and free, we wrestled in the sheets, bringing both of our bodies to the heights of pleasure and beyond.

I sobbed my adoration of her, fists twisted in the bedding as she ravished me senseless. How I loved her… 

How would I live without her?

 

In the darkness of that fateful night, Lucky silently roused us and the plans were set in motion. There was a social event for Xanava’s royal house tonight, to celebrate the summer turning into autumn. Our journey there was to take a scenic detour.

Right past the docks.

Everything I needed to know for my escape had been memorized, and the men carried the things we would need to get to Barsaive. I rode nestled in my usual spot, between Xanava’s body and the heavy pommel on Agreth’s saddle. We were both dressed finely, and my sweet Warrior was in all of her glorious armor and weapons. The loss of my own Pattern Items was keen, but my freedom was worth the cost of them. Someone would have a very difficult time with my sword. To bind it, an Adept was required to etch the former bearer’s True Name into the crystal surface. There was little chance that any Theran could discover mine. 

We were moving at a leisurely pace, Agreth clopping along lazily, with Lucky and Durc directly behind. Eventually, the smell of the docks became more and more apparent, pleasing me with the familiarity of it. Soon, I could rejoin my t’skrang family on the Serpent River. I would need the distraction from my breaking heart. The surroundings were becoming almost squalid, the smells sour and thick. Agreth abruptly halted, ears pricked, snorting in the clingy mist. She danced in agitation, the jingle of her tack and the lapping water the only sound.

“Lady Wolf?”

We all jumped in surprise at the unexpected voice. Then a slinky figure materialized from the mist and Xanava relaxed. “You should take care, Jareth, my reflexes are not entirely within my control.”

It was the Thief who had sprung me from Calla, but this time there was no teasing smile. “I think we will have company very soon. All haste is due.”

As if on cue, Xanava’s gauntleted fist blurred into action, snatched something from the air a mere breath from my nose. I was staring at an arrow shaft, now cracked in the strength of her grip. The mist shifted to show a figure on horseback lowering a short bow.

“Oh, you are so good,” Calla cackled.

I was frozen until Xanava gave my leg a quick, heartfelt squeeze. “Go, now, all of you.”

Even as Jareth pulled me from Agreth’s back, I was protesting. There was a flash of shadowed crystal blue eyes as her sword rang clear of scabbard. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way! I needed to say goodbye, to let her know what she had come to mean to me! 

With a discordant cry, Agreth and Xanava charged into battle.

 

The next thing I knew, I was on hands and knees, gasping with exhaustion. I had no idea where I was or how far I had run, too upset to have been paying attention. How could I have left her? Even now, the sounds of the two Warriors rang through the darkness. How could I want to save her? That woman should be my enemy! My heart thudded painfully in my chest, tired and aching. My sweet Xanava had given me a second chance. It was only fair that I do the same.

Lucky shouted protest from the fishing skiff as I raced back the way we had just come. “Kitten! No!” The sounds of the desperate fight grew louder as I ducked and wove amidst the chaos of the empty fishing wharf. Jareth was probably hot on my heels, but I had lived in this type of environment for decades. Even with Thiefly Talents, the lad was no match for my experience. Two ghostly figures danced in the mists, dwarfed by the towering rigging of the docks. They were too evenly matched… the first one to make the slightest mistake would die where she stood. 

Xanava had everything to lose…

While Calla had no such distractions.

I did what any proper t’skrang would do. I went for the most unexpected and efficient solution. I climbed. I climbed with everything I had, gambling that the party-colored kin of my heart had certain universal commonalities.

The gamble paid off, as I found neatly coiled clingor rope at the top of the rigging. Only a heartbeat behind me, Jareth cursed. A desperate grab came up with nothing but air.

I was already gone, dropping like a stone towards the dock boards below. I hated to fly, and hated to fall even more. It was, ironically, a racial fear that I shared with the t’skrang. It was also one of the things they fought to overcome. The clingor rope bit harshly into my wrists and hands, its tacky surface adhering to my skin and sleeves as my weight pulled on it. 

Expertly twisting my body, I sailed only a dwarf-height above the dock. The look on Calla’s face was priceless as she took the full impact of my swing. It was like hitting an armored wall, the pain blazing up legs and back. Calla screamed in frustration, a broken, maddened sound, and hard hands scrabbled at my clothes as I twisted away. My slight weight was no longer so slight, as my swing began to terminate far out over the water. I had to laugh madly at the exhilaration of acting the a Boatman again, not to mention the perverse pleasure of Calla splashing to the water below. Arching gracefully into the termination of the swing, I hurled back towards the dock…

And into Xanava’s waiting arms. 

“Kitten? How? What?” She stammered in shock, and I pulled her head to me, to kiss her breathless. After a long moment, we both heard the approach of troops, and Jareth calling for me to hurry.

“Come with me,” I breathed against her lips in impulse. “Please. You’re not safe here and you could make a real difference in Barsaive.”

Bewildered by the sudden turn of events, my beautiful Warrior set me on my feet and trustingly put her hand in mine. Together we ran from the fearsome man and woman Warrior who had crippled us both.


	7. A Journey Home

Three days in a cramped fishing hold with three large Name-Givers, a bored Thief and a frustrated warhorse was not an experience I care to repeat. The space we had to share with Agreth’s immense bulk was intimidating, but there was never any question about taking her along. None of us could bear to leave the magnificent animal behind. Filthy and exhausted, the six of us came above decks to the blaze of the sun far above. With no preamble, we were dropped off on a thin strip of land on what Jareth explained was the eastern shore of the Selestrean Sea.

I had never seen anything like it. Rolling sand as far as the eye could see, with vast mountains rising in the north. After a tense few days amidst the peoples of Creana, Jareth and Xanava were finally able to charter us passage aboard a merchant airship with few ties to the Theran Empire. In the cramped darkness of the hold, we all slept in a sloppy pile near Agreth’s legs and waited for the hell to end.

After five full days of hellish travel, we were all in need of baths, decent food and a change of clothes. The airship landed on the southernmost edge of what I could not believe was the Aras Sea. On the northern end of this massive water was my homeland. 

As a ship captain, I had met a few of the People From Across the Sea. Always heavily covered and veiled, they were a maddening enigma to Barsaivians. Now I was one of the lucky few who could see them in their own environment, garish, loud and lively along the shores of the Aras. Oh, the stories I would tell one day…

If I could ever talk about my experiences away from Barsaive. 

 

In the dead of night, I was woken by the distinct feeling of our ship butting up against another solid object. No one else stirred around me, but these were not people of the water, the way I was, and they were not sensitive to the subtle language that ships spoke. Voices faintly filtered through the big merchant/fishing vessel. The melodic cadence of the strangers was still comprehensible to me, but another voice made me sit up with heart pounding.

“C’mon boy! We haven’t all night to sit!”

Throalic.

Someone above decks was speaking the dwarven language, the trade tongue of Barsaive. My heart was pounding fit to explode and I gently nudged Xanava. “Those are Barsaivians above decks. Are you ready for this?”

Very few words had come from Xanava during this trip. She had done little more than grunt, in fact. She was rattled to her core, frightened and alone. We had done our best to remain supportive of her, but it was hard.

But she clung tightly to me while we slept.

“Coming father!” A youngster’s voice, not yet to adolescence. By now the others had woken and we traded glances in the dimness. It had been a very long time since I had remembered how strikingly different Xanava was in appearance to the people of Barsaive. There was no mistaking her as anything but an aristocratic Theran. There would be no moving inconspicuously for her. The orks were much more non-descript, barring Durc’s unusual size. Jareth also had an exotic cast to her features, and I chuckled again at how thoroughly she had fooled me into believe she was a man. There were few secrets left after being crammed together like netted fish for so long.

“I’ll be back soon,” I assured my companions and slipped out after giving Xanava’s fingers a squeeze. The Aras Sea smelled nothing like the briny Selestrean, but it was the smell of home. A deep lungful gave me strength and I pulled my Creanan robe more tightly about my body. A good-sized vessel with Barsaivian lines was moored beside the vessel I stood on and great gangplanks thumped down between the two ships to began transferring cargo. There was a sturdy, grizzled human talking with the captain of this ship, thumbs hooked in his wide belt. Ducking around the milling crews, already involved in transferring cargo, I approached him.

Honestly, I was terrified to speak with him, terrified at how honest I would have to be with this stranger to win passage to Urupa. Our current captain nodded at me as I drew close and the human turned. “You needed me?” He inquired in a business-like tone. Swallowing hard, I nodded and stepped closer.

“Is there a private place that we may speak? I’m afraid I have a tale that you may not want all to hear.”

Now he was curious. Wary too, but I could hardly blame him that. “Very well, but I warn you that I’ve no time to dawdle, so make it quick.” After bellowing orders at his crew, the captain led me below decks to the office and I breathed in the familiar, sweet scent of t’skrang tobacco. “Name’s Daylor. Yours?”

That made me pause. How in the name of the Passions was I to introduce myself? I hardly knew myself anymore. “I have a… dilemma regarding Names,” I admitted painfully, feeling the bonds on my True Pattern hum in threat. “Please believe that I mean no harm. I am a member of House V’strimon.”

One furry eyebrow arched up in skepticism, and I hurriedly pulled up my left sleeve to show him where the band of Everliving Reeds lay half-nestled beneath the orichalcum cuff. “There’s my proof, Captain Daylor.”

Still unconvinced, he eyed me flatly and I mentally scrambled for something to convince him. “Do you have a small knife?” Intrigued now, the captain produced a tiny dagger from seemingly nowhere and I sliced away the inky leather wrapping the left cuff. The enchanted metal sparkled in contrast to the green reeds and my dirty skin. “This is pure orichalcum. I wear a cuff on each limb as well as the collar I’m certain you’ve already noticed. The monster that bought me from the K’tenshin enchanted these to my True Pattern when I blew a hole in the side of his kila. I am… was a master Warrior and Wizards as well as journeyman Boatman. These bindings assure that I have no access to any Talent or magic Item. My mistress had nothing to fear from me and released me out of the goodness of her once-misguided heart.”

Thoughtful, he leaned back into his chair and lit up a long pipe while he pondered my passionate outburst. I was shaking with stress and my Pattern buzzed irritably at my honesty. When Daylor offered me a toke of the pipeweed, I willingly took the opportunity. The sweet, musky taste was a blissful reminder of home. “I know who you are,” Daylor mused suddenly. “You be that missing elven captain that V’strimon lost years back. The Therans had you all this time?” He was brusque, but not without sympathy, and I could handle that.

“Yes sir, I’m afraid that is exactly what happened. There are two other slaves, a defecting Thief, a warhorse and my former owner waiting on that other ship. I need passage. Please. We’ve come so far.”

With a heavy sigh, Daylor eyed me shrewdly from beneath shaggy eyebrows. “You’ve your Theran mistress here on this boat? Quite the outlandish tale you have there, but the g’doinya don’t lie. Two Therans? I don’t like it.”

“I know,” I hastened to assure him. “But they were good to me and wish to live as Barsaivians. All I can do it vouch for their good intentions.” 

“You’ve coin?”

“Quite a lot.”

“And a horse? Are you mad?”

“She’s special. And extremely well-mannered. She can stay above decks if there’s a corner. We’ll clean up after her and our hosts have already provided a few days of food.”

“Hmmm,” he debated to himself before eying me sharply again. “Why should I trust you?”

“Captain Daylor,” I begged hoarsely. “I’ve lived as a Theran slave for five years. I’m desperate to be home and removed from my captivity. My owner and my Thief friend left behind a life of privilege and my fellow slaves have never known freedom. We will pay and work for the horse’s passage. Please, you’re all the hope I have.”

For an endless moment, I truly believed that he would refuse. It was a terrifying prospect and I think it was the look on my face convinced him otherwise. “Very well, elven t’skrang, welcome aboard the _Sea Lady_. Go get your companions. We have little time left. Hurry!” while I raced across the bobbing gangplanks, Captain Daylor resumed shouting orders at his crew. “Make some room ‘low decks for some freight of the two-legged variety! And clear those nets! We’ve a horse to transport!” I lost track of the objections of the crew as I raced below decks and crashed into the small cell we had been crammed into.

“Come! There’s another ship that will take us to Urupa. Hurry!”

They scrambled to obey, grabbing our sparse gear, while I threw Agreth’s halter around her nose and ears. The crew of the _Sea Lady_ pulled up the gangplank right on our heels. Snorting and fussing, Agreth pranced agitatedly, nearly pulling me off my feet. Crewmen shouted and cursed as she backpedaled nearly right over them. The hollow whip of the sails unfurling didn’t help her mood any, but Xanava and I managed to get her backed into the corner where she was to stay for the rest of this long escape. Thankfully, Xanava’s hood had remained hiding her face.

“Come on, you scabrous dogs! Ignore the horse and pull that rigging! Unless you’d like to row home! These winds are fickle.”

“Aye,” someone muttered sarcastically and I grinned. Sailors never changed, didn’t matter race or color or creed. Plying the waters affected a change as deep as Discipline.

“Janess! Make sure those landlubbers get that great, bloody beast stowed properly, and get them below decks while we get underway.”

“Aye, father.”

The look in Xanava’s shadowed eyes was classic as the boy yanked the reins from her hand and had Agreth’s head tied securely to a pair of heavy cleats. She seemed startled by the boy’s quickness and tugged experimentally at the reins. “He’s got you, but good,” Xanava chuckled quietly and pulled the big head to her chest to reassure her.

“Soon,” I soothed them both. “Barsaive can be a wonderful place, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know, Kitten.”

It occurred to me that the big woman didn’t even know my Name. Nor did Lucky or Durc. It was a strange shock that echoed through the enchanted bindings and I quickly shoved away the thought before the shocks grew painful. A burly ork showed us to a pair of small rooms, where Jareth mercifully went to bunk up with the men. By the time I had hugged Lucky and Durc goodnight, I found Xanava grunting in frustration at trying to remove her soiled armor.

“Let me,” I whispered and pushed her hands away. The laces were grimy, the fine cloth of her clothes ruined.

“I feel disgusting.”

“Well, you don’t smell so good either.” Piercing blue eyes rested on me, half curious and half threatening. “I was teasing, Wolf. There, you’re loose. We have a real bunk now, and I know sleep sounds good to me right now.”

Xanava allowed me to tug her to the bed and push her flat. Contentedly, I climbed in and sprawled over her much larger frame. Strong hands found their usual place curled around my skull and waist. Still in our boots, we slept.

 

The rigidity of Xanava’s body woke me. Only then did I notice the violent bucking of the _Sea Lady_. A storm howled outside and ship as sea did their dangerous dance together.

I loved it, wished I could be on the deck above, struggling against the violence of the elements. “Are you all right?”

For a long moment, Xanava did not respond to my quiet question, but eventually sighed heavily. “I am… unaccustomed to water ships.”

“Are you sick?”

“No. Just… unbalanced.”

“So stay where you are,” I purred playfully and made her smile with a light kiss. Why in the Passion’s Names was I still flirting with her? 

 

Two days the storm raged. Then suddenly, in the darkest hours of night, the wind stopped howling and the sea became calm. By now, the need to bathe was desperate. “I’ll pay the captain a visit to see about baths and solid meals.” The memory of Xanava’s haunted eyes stayed with me as I prowled about the ship. Cargo had shifted and water had crept in, but considering the violence of the gale, Captain Daylor ran a very tight ship.

 

Agreth was both relieved and hateful about being tied to a cramped corner of the sprawling deck amidst the dangling fishing nets, especially after the three days of storm. Her ears would flatten and she would snap her immense teeth at anyone but Xanava and I. Jareth and the ork men played any conceivable gambling game they could remember between them, desperate for the distraction. Xanava and I attacked her armor and Agreth’s tack. There were many markings and decoration that betrayed them as distinctly Theran. The woman’s high-cheekbones and distinctive bronze skin were conspicuous enough. So we carefully removed silver bits from the heavy breastplate and fringed skirt, the heavy saddle and halter, the greaves and scabbard and bracers. Xanava examined each piece carefully as it was worked on, looking at the Pattern Threads to ensure we did not magically damage the Item. How I missed my Astral Sight, and the other precise tools of my Wizardry…

Captain Daylor caught me up on the business and politics of Barsaive as best he could as we shared a few meals together. He was a good man, gruff but friendly, and helped me out as best he could. He traded me a pot of thick animal grease and some inky plant dye for some of the baubles from Xanava’s armor. With those tools, Xanava’s gear began to change, the details blurring into the deep, deep color of the new, blackened grease.

We were both startled when the door suddenly crackled open and a small figure seemed to materialize there. “Hello,” spoke Jeness’ voice. Despite my alarm, I smiled and placed a placating hand on Xanava’s arm. He was just a boy, with a mop of unruly hair and curious eyes. I had only seen him in passing since we boarded, and waved the boy to me.

“Greetings young sir. Perhaps you might help with a task?”

There was no answer as Jeness and Xanava stared in mutual fascination at each other. The skinny Barsaivian ship’s boy and the towering Theran aristocrat. It was somehow oddly touching and somewhat amusing. Then Jeness shook himself out and focused on me. “Yes lady?”

“Perhaps a bath, before we come into port?”

There was no mistaking that we were filthy and disgusting. “Of course. I’ll go ask the first mate.” Jeness smiled and bounced over to the door to comply, but suddenly paused and flashed Xanava a shy look. “You’re pretty.” And vanished out the door with the sound of slamming wood. A bemused smile danced in the corners of Xanava’s strong mouth.

“What a sweet child,” she mused to herself and her expression turned melancholy. “I look very different from your people, don’t I, Kitten?”

“Yes, you do. But he’s correct, you are very pretty.”

“Is that what he said?”

By the Great River Dragon, I had forgotten! Xanava could not speak the languages of Barsaive. What could I do? Without the ability to communicate, Xanava would be crippled in Barsaive. “Oh Wolf, I’m so sorry…”

Before I could continue, there was a thump and Jeness shoved open the door. “There’s a cold bath on deck. The first mate and me’ll set you up with hot water while you get the grime off. C’mon.”

At the bullying of the lad, we ended up on deck, where the crew had cordoned off the same corner that Agreth occupied. A gruff ork I dimly realized was the first mate eyed Xanava’s mysteriously cloaked frame as he dropped a pile of cloth in my arms. Behind swathes of sail and net were twin half-barrels full of the recent rainwater. I chortled throatily in delight, stripping to my skin the moment we were behind the makeshift barrier. Agreth sniffed at me and laid her ears back while I laughed.

But Xanava hesitated with the concept of semi-public nudity like this, the voices of the crew only paces away. So I turned the situation into a bit of a thrill, trying my best to be teasing and sultry while getting my poor skin used to the cold water. Finally I settled into the half-barrel and let my legs splay lazily. The cold had my skin tight, nipples erect and teeth starting to chatter. “Come on. A quick scrub and we can go warm up below decks,” I coaxed. With a dramatic sigh, Xanava shucked off her long-ruined dress clothes and hurriedly squeezed in with me. I had to laugh at the crowding and her child-like shyness at her own nudity. I remembered all to well the feeling. Being kaer born, my issues with privacy had baffled the t’skrang endlessly.

I scrubbed Xanava’s back and sides, lingering over the hated scars, while she hung her legs over the side and ground the soft soapsand over her skin. Once she was mostly scrubbed, she gathered up my small body and tossed me into the other barrel to finish the washing. The entire time I laughed freely, loving her unexpected playfulness. Hair took longer and even Xanava was shivering in the breeze. So we scrambled into the robes we’d been given, not bothering to dry off, and escaped off to our quarters, after tossing our ruined garments to the spirits of the Aras Sea.

“Mmmm, much better,” Xanava purred at the sight of a deep, long tub in our quarters, still steaming invitingly. I was blessed with a deep, loving kiss while she tugged the damp robe away and got us both in the hot water. And it was hot! I squeaked in surprise and a bit of pain at the bite of it in contrast to the chill in my flesh.

“This smells heavenly,” I commented, digging my toes and backside into the thick layer of sand in the bottom. It smelled of flowery lavender and the heavy resin scent of rosemary. Bless these sailors for the unexpected pampering. “Remind me to thank Captain Daylor next time I see him.” Whoever had brought in the bath had also stripped the bed and left a clean pile of linens. There was a thick wad of clothing beside the linens and I relaxed happily into Xanava’s body. “The capital will hire you,” I said unexpectedly into the quiet and her hands stopped wandering for a moment.

“The capital?”

“There are few places where a Theran speaker can find work. Throal will find you honest pay while you learn the language.”

“That seems fair. Will your leader make time for me?”

She seemed less nervous than curious, but I twisted a bit to kiss her anyway. “Xanava, you are an accomplished Warrior of high Circle and upstanding character. While I have little desire to share our mutual story with the whole of Barsaive, I will certainly do so to get the both of us started again here.”

“Will you not be returning to your river?”

There it was, the stark truth of our future.

Many t’skrang generations ago, I had made a promise to the then-young Shivalahala, the leader of House V’strimon. In time, I had earned the most treasured token of trust that the House could offer. I understood that I must return to Shivoam, and that I must leave Xanava in the underground city of the dwarves, the seat of Barsaive. 

By the grip Xanava had around me, she understood these things too.

 

It was a quiet meal we five refugees spent together, relishing the hearty bread and stew and even some fresh fruit. After so many days of cramped quarters, filth and little to eat, it was viscerally pleasant to have a full belly. Relaxing over ale and tea, I told them more of what they could expect from Barsaive. It made me realize that I had traveled so little of this great land. Outside of the t’skrang settlements, I had rarely wandered from the boundaries of the Serpent. Considering that most t’skrang villages were entirely underwater and the entrance to Throal was an underground river, it was a sobering realization. “So much for being a seasoned traveler,” I joked weakly and they all looked at me with something like fear in their eyes. Jareth and Xanava, walking into a lifestyle they did not understand, Durc and Lucky to a freedom they had never known.

And me still without my defining Disciplines…

I slept poorly that night, even with the comforting embrace of my Wolf.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

A crash and cursing jerked me from a black sleep, my heart pounding in alarm and my body weary and confused. “Wha…?”

“Just me, Kitten,” came Xanava’s voice as my vision cleared away the memory of pain and smoke and fire. A large bag of heavy leather lay at her feet and an odd prickling sensation across my nerves was all the warning I had. “I had your things stolen from Genarez.” There was a long pause as I stared hungrily at the bag. “That was the three day wait before I smuggled you out. There was no way that Jareth could steal from both Calla and Genarez, and remain breathing. That was how she came to be on this journey.”

Reaching for the bag, I cringed at the warning spark of danger across my Pattern. No! This was intolerable! That bastard had taken away my freedom, my Name and now the Items that I had spent centuries bonding to my Pattern. It was too much and the pain swamped over me like a ship returning to the embrace of river or sea. My emotions were raw and battered, and the first sob wrenched up from my gut like bile.

Damn him for still having power over me!

Despite the bright sunlight, I slept in time, cradled in the arms of my strong Wolf. “I’m sorry,” she breathed softly as wakefulness returned to me again. I felt awful, like I had been drinking steadily for days, been in a violent fistfight and then eaten something rotten.

“Oh Xan,” I whispered and held her close. “Having those Items returned is something I never expected. Thank you so much. It will just take time before I can deal with them.”

Why was the ship swaying and bucking so strangely? There was no song of wind and the crew sounded unalarmed. My pain fought against my Boatman curiosity and I absently patted Xanava while I concentrated. The distraction from the bag would be good for me. “We must be near the mouth of the Coil River,” I whispered and felt the terror of returning home climb up my spine again. We clung together silently for a long time as the crew bustled about. 

The draw of the river was too much though, and I was forced from the shelter of Xanava’s arms to the decks above. Beneath the rays of the setting sun, the mighty Coil River thundered in a never ending flood of water into the Aras Sea. Even from a safe distance from the churning white froth, the sight was impressive. Even as we watched, a riverboat exploded from the maelstrom, bucking and kicking like an unbroken steed. I couldn’t stop myself from joining the holler of triumph that rose up from the _Sea Lady_ ’s crew at the feat of the other ship.

“You actually drive riverboats up that?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at Xanava’s incredulous tone and smiled up at her. There was no explanation for my mercurial emotions lately, devastated one moment and peaceful the next. “This is only one of the tributaries, though an enormous one to be sure. In time, you will see the might of the Serpent River. Come below decks and we’ll see what we can do to make you a bit less conspicuous.”

Jareth was happy to take the various odds and ends that had been removed from Xanava’s gear and go barter with the ship’s quartermaster while the rest of us packed our meager things. In a far shorter time than I would have thought, a happy Jareth bounced back into the room with arms laden.

“Smart woman that quartermaster, but I’m afraid I got the better end of this deal,” the Thief clucked proudly and rummaged trough her booty. It was clothing and a few simple weapons, backpacks and bedrolls and swathes of brightly colored scarves. It was so strange to hold the gaudy, gauzy material, watch it shimmer against my fingers.

I could wear colors again.

Not the endless, monotonous black of a Theran slave. The same comprehension was washing over the faces of the orks as they fingered the fine, sturdy garments Jareth had procured. “Go on,” she encouraged with a strange sort of understanding bright in her eyes. “Take them. Don’t waste days of haggling. What? You thought this was the first time the quartermaster and I have traded verbal swords this voyage? You know little of Thieves then. It was a good distraction from the need to just _take_ it.”

The gear was well-made and colorful, but in no way pretentious. We would draw no undue attention like this. Lucky and Durc were giddy yet oddly subdued to don the garments of free men. I understood the mixed emotion all to well.

Jareth was the only one to leave the room to change, the rest of us thought nothing of our group nudity anymore. Then Lucky stumbled across a finely-carved box with the visage of a beautiful woman carved and dyed in the lid.

“What’s this?” He mused and Jareth laughed as she stepped back into the room. If at all possible, the woman looked even more boyish in the simple-cut merchant clothes. 

“A makeup kit. We need to costume you, Lady Wolf. It’s a half-magic ability of my Disguise Talent. Just sit still and let me see what I can do.” The boys and myself watched in fascination as Jareth painted subtle color over Xanava’s face. The change was startling, and yet not any one thing that I could put my finger on. The big woman’s skin tone was still swarthy and rich, but an earthier brown rather than the striking bronzed shade. The high cheekbones seemed less dramatic, the impossibly blue eyes not quite so striking. “There we are,” Jareth finally said smugly. “That will certainly keep away casual eyes. Just don’t touch your face and pray that there will be no rain.”

I hid my own identity by pulling my hair back severely away from my face and allowing Jareth to deepen the already rich golden tan that living in temperate Thera had granted me. The decadent expanse of wavy auburn hair was a well-known feature of mine, but I had spent little time in Urupa. The locals would be unlikely to recognize me.

As we cruised along the cliff headlands towards the north, the lights of the dwarven quarter cut right into the cliffs themselves became visible. As the light faded, the glare of Tovar’s Pyre glared orange and red and angry at the point of the spit of land that separated Urupa’s harbor from the Aras Sea. I started storytelling without even thinking about it. “Legend has it that the pyre there was created by a fire elemental bound to serve the Elementalist Tovar. After performing the agreed-on services, the elemental returned to collect its due, only to discover that Tovar was unable to pay. The angry fire elemental responded by engulfing Tovar in a pyre of everlasting flames. It’s said that if you approach the beacon closely, you can see the silhouette of a man, writhing in agony.” Shaking off the daze of getting caught up in a tale, I looked around to see that I had ensnared more than just my companions. Several crewmembers were hanging on my words, and I was surprised that so many of them spoke Theran. Self-consciously, I gestured at the gout of orange fire. “Tovar’s Pyre can be seen for many miles out to sea and is a welcoming beacon for ship’s caught out in the Aras’ foulest weather.”

As though my words had conjured something, the winds began to pick up, snapping the sails loudly. The Aras Sea was coiling up to strike with one of its famous storms. All I could do was pray to Floranuus to protect our ship. Captain Daylor appeared on deck and began bellowing orders. “Put your backs into it or we’ll never make port before this storm! And I’ve no desire to try slipping past the Redoubt in high waves! You five make yourselves useful and tighten these lines!”

That’s how I found myself helping the crew of the _Sea Lady_ rush the big fishing/merchant ship towards her safe harbor. In the rapidly darkening skies, I could see the massive spiny edifice of Shabira’s Redoubt stark beneath the gathering clouds. 

By the time we made our ponderous way around the spit of land that was clearly lit by Tovar’s Pyre, the storm had cracked its whip over our backs. The _Sea Lady_ creaked and groaned around me, but remained steady and well-behaved. I would have a soft spot in my heart for this solid girl if I made it to harbor alive. There was a nasty moment as the waves shoved us violently past the tall, thin fortress of the Redoubt. The massive, clear thorns of the refs seemed to reach for the _Sea Lady_ ’s sturdy ribs, like a hungry hunting cat. In the shattering crash of lightning, the refs gleamed like swords of clear crystal. Nothing made of water should be so deadly, but these were True Water and had rules of their own. I was reminded of the scores of refs surrounding the floating island of House V’strimon. But they had never been so frightening like this, exposed and raw in the valley below the cresting wave. Something nudged us and the refs swept by nearly close enough to touch.

It took until we bumped up to dock for my heart to stop pounding like a frightened jack rabbit.

Gear was lashed to Agreth’s saddle as she pranced like a yearling filly, huffing with impatience to get off the ship. I was surprised when Xanava grabbed me around the waist and threw me up on the warhorse’s back. Slapping Agreth’s withers to get the horse to calm, Xanava began shortening the stirrups to my much shorter legs. Agreth flattened her ears and bared her teeth, but stood still and stiff, vibrating with tension. Lucky startled me by shortening the other stirrup. “You’ll lead, Kitten,” Xanava shouted over the storm.

At the ramp, Captain Daylor was already berating his crew into unloading, despite the sickening, slow bobbing of the _Sea Lady_ against the dock. He came over without my bidding and offered a weathered hand. “Welcome home, elven-t’skrang. Good travels.”

“Thank you, captain. Calm seas and fair winds.”

To my surprise, he turned his attention to where Xanava watched her new world from beneath a voluminous hood. She grasped his hand and Daylor smiled with surprisingly warmth. “Good luck. May you get to be everything you wish to be here.”

Then he was all business again, shooing us down the ramp and bellowing at the crew. I returned Jeness’ wave before taking a death grip on Agreth’s mane and pommel. It was a dangerous disembarking, with Agreth balking and prancing on the wooden ramp, Xanava pulling on her halter, the boys shoving from behind and the agitated harbor far, far below. At last we were on the busy dock, built of strong, black stone. There, Agreth finally got enough slack to rear up, screaming her defiance of all she’d been through.

I was smacked into her neck hard enough to see stars and clung to her mane with all of my strength. After that show of temper, Agreth settled down and I could blink my eyes back into focus. When Xanava looked up to inquire after me, I waved her off.

Around me was the cacophony of Barsaive’s many languages and cultures. We moved towards the massive levee that separated the heavy walls from the wharves. Through the Foreigner’s Gate we passed into the city of Urupa, what little we could see of it in the gale. I was terrified that one of the many t’skrang would recognize me. More than once my heart clutched as I recognized a familiar sweep of crest or the bright pattern of hide. We stayed on the main thoroughfare, carried along like flotsam by the seething crowd. Xanava remained attached firmly to Agreth’s head and every time I glanced back, Jareth and the boys were close to the horse’s gold rump.

We eventually came to the massive crossroads of the Visitor’s Road and the Old Theran Road. In my mind, I could trace the Old Theran Road south, back along the way we’d just come, where it turned north to follow the Coil River to where the Island of Everliving Reeds lay. I shivered off the thought and contemplated my next move.

“Now what?” Xanava growled suddenly and I winced at the distinct sound of her Theran dialect. Thankfully, this was the crossroads city of Urupa and they heard the language more regularly here. We should probably remain in the Visitor Quarter, but I was far to worried about being close to the t’skrang, just south of us. So I turned Agreth’s head to the north and let her flow into the thinning crowds on the Old Theran Road.

Rather than watch the crowd, I watched Xanava watch the crowd. Her hood had been pushed back now that the weather and the crowds were fading. My sensitive elven eyes could make her features out in the dim light of the buildings and various traveler’s torches and lanterns. Periodically, she would crane her head to see something and I was amused and relieved at her expression. Obviously, my Theran companion had not expected the clean, well-organized society that surrounded her. Very little had changed since the last time I had visited this city, even if the circumstances could hardly be more different. There were the massive stair-step lodging of the Biharj dwarves carved into the towering cliff-face, hundreds of windows twinkling in the now-quiet night. Beside that was the single vast building of the obsidiman Nehem sector. We moved past the Three Temples of the Passions and the familiarity of what they represented calmed my soul. As we passed the towering Theran Embassy, we all cringed until well clear.

A brilliantly carved façade that looked like an exotic tree caught my eye. From a ‘branch’ dangled a sigh that looked like an enormous leaf. On it read ‘Khocomo’ and I gestured while bringing Agreth’s head around. Walking through the gap amidst the ‘roots’ of the tree carving, we came into a large courtyard that looked like a wild jungle.

“Beautiful,” Jareth breathed, startled when a noisy bird squawked nearby. This place was obviously of obsidiman architecture and I prayed for the discretion of those towering Name-Givers. 

“There’s a stable over there,” Lucky pointed out quietly. “I can take care of Agreth. I’ll play dumb if someone asks questions.”

I took the hint and moved to slide from Agreth’s back. If not for Xanava’s lightning reflexes I would have dashed myself senseless on the paving stones. “Oh Passions,” I hissed in pain. Back, seat and legs burned from Agreth’s earlier exertions and then being in the saddle for hours. I really did not like horses.

Thankfully, Agreth placidly followed Lucky while I did a few stretches to get the worst of the kinks in my muscles. “Come on then,” I said to my companions with a bravery I did not feel.

There was a small crowd inside that eyed us curiously for a moment before returning to their business. They had an air of competence and I began to worry about my choice of inns. 

I gestured the others to an empty table and went to the enormous wooden bar that dominated one end of the common room. An obsidiman was intent on his task of garnering the perfect shine on the gleaming surface.

“Greetings neighbor. I’ve need of two rooms if they’re available.”

It took a moment for his fathomless eyes to meet mine. His response was as slow and thoughtful as one might expect for his people.

“Of course traveler. Will you require a bath?”

“Please,” even to my own ears I sounded eager and something not unlike a smile ghosted across his stony face.

“Five silver for a night.”

“Then let me purchase two nights just in case. Uhh...” My voice faltered briefly before I gathered myself to ask tentatively, “do you accept Theran coin? I’m afraid it’s all I have.”

For long heartbeats the towering Name-Giver seemed to search me too closely. Then he nodded. “That currency is acceptable in this city.”

From the oilskin pouch that Xanava had imperiously tied to my belt, I drew a handful of small coins and plucked out the glitter of gold amidst the silver. The two coins were laid on the counter and vanished into his great hand. In its place were two keys marked twelve and thirteen.

“Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you be needing food and drink?”

We haggled out two meals and some bracing drink before I turned away from the bar. I’m afraid he got the better end of the deal, but I was tired and had no access to my Haggling Talent anyway. Someone shifted in the corner of my eye and instantly had my attention. A beautiful elven woman dressed in the colors of sky and sea regarded me with a thoughtful expression. Her skin was a striking shade of dusky silver I had seen only twice before and her eyes were twinkling sapphires. There was a curious empathy in her gaze and I found myself with an uncharacteristic and wholly unexpected grin on my face. She must have taken my sudden smile as encouragement, for she stepped over to me.

“You look like an adventurer in need of a tale.”

Much to our mutual surprise I laughed out loud at her unconscious play on words.

“Many a t’skrang friend has told me the same... But I’m no adventurer.”

“Not an adventurer? With many a t’skrang friend and riding in on that magnificent steed I saw in the courtyard? I find that hard to believe.”

Despite her light tone, I tensed in dread as to where this might be going. She must have seen the fear in my eyes and resettled the lyre that had appeared in her hands.

“No matter, I’m pleased to meet you anyway. I am Star Sapphire Jewel, weaver of tales and pleaser of hearts.”

The flourishing bow made me grin again at the friendly Troubadour. Then my bonds tightened on my Pattern and the world seemed to screech to a halt.

How did I introduce myself?

Captain Daylor had let the matter lie. This Troubadour might not be so understanding, for she was undoubtedly as curious as all of her Discipline.

More than five turns of the seasons had passed since I or any other had spoken my True Name, or any part of it. 

“Are you well?”

The question snapped my out of my panic. Pain and disorientation was burning along my True Pattern and I found I could not speak for the moment. Suddenly Xanava was at my side and Star shied away from the crystal blue glare.

“It’s all right,” I rasped at Xanava, trying to forestall the protective violence I sensed building. Glowering at the elven woman, she put a hand on my neck as she had so many times before. Her strength calmed me and I leaned into her comforting warmth before looking back to Star. “I have a dilemma regarding Names.”

Another long moment passed while I silently wrestled with the bonds on my Pattern. It was too much for me and I gave in with a gasp. Instantly, Xanava pulled me into an embrace and absorbed my shudders. I could not speak my own True Name, nor any fragment of it. That key was far too important to my True Pattern, still trapped in the orichalcum bonds. Suddenly, that fact was a weight I could no longer carry alone, pouring out my frustration and pain into Xanava’s strong body. Long moments of struggle ensued before I remembered where I was and that others were nearby. Finally, I calmed somewhat and curled a trembling hand into Xanava’s damp clothes. After a quick glance into her concerned gaze, I looked back to Star. She had that odd, unfocused look of a spellcaster viewing the Astral plane.

“Yes,” she intoned somberly. “I would say you indeed have a dilemma regarding Names.” Abruptly, Star became smiles again. “Does your dilemma extend to creativity as well? Or may I beg proof that you bear no dark taint?”

Cursing myself silently, I reached into the money pouch and pulled out a silver coin and the small dagger. With an aching head and body and heart, I sketched out a storm battering the stamped image of the Theran capital in the metal. Star was satisfied that I bore no Horror taint and chuckled at my choice of depictions.

“Very clever. Now, I sensed something about you and your companions. Something odd and vaguely troubling.” Her gaze dropped significantly to my throat before returning to my eyes and I shivered. “If you had wished to avoid curiosity, traveler, perhaps you should have steered clear of the most popular Adept’s inn in all of Urupa.” I groaned even as she smiled both playful and sympathetic. Only Xanava’s annoyed glare made me realize abruptly that Star had been speaking in flawless Theran. “Relax, both of you. It’s obvious that you mean no harm, at least this night. Perhaps my companion and I can be of assistance to you.”

“Perhaps,” I managed to whisper uncomfortably around my tension. “I have little to offer. I’ve been away for a very long time.”

Star waved my words off. “All I ask is for what is obviously a very interesting story if you are ever able to tell it. Here comes your dinner.”

Leave it to a Troubadour to scare and soothe me all in one breath. The obsidiman barkeep was setting a large tray before Jareth and Durc. I nodded for them to dig in, even as Lucky slunk in and joined them. I turned my gaze back to find Star still watching me expectantly. She did want an answer then.

“I… I will tell what I can, when I can.”

“That is all that I would ask of you,” she said wisely and gestured at the others. “I will be here tomorrow if you would like my help. If not, then I wish you the best of luck, strangers.”

That was that, and the striking woman returned to her companion, who was half lost in the shadowy corner. Groaning expressively about my entire day, week, month, half a decade, I scrubbed at my face for a moment before gathering my flagging resources and going to the table to force some food down.

It took a real effort to ignore the pained yearning in Xanava’s face.

 

Waking with a startled jerk, I peered around the strange room’s dimness, feeling the effects of a bit to much ale in my body and mind. A shiver of fear passed through me as my hand wandered across the sheets of its own volition.

I was alone in the bed.

Before panic could set in, there was a small rustle and Xanava melted from the dimness, almost startling me. For a mindless eternity, I was pinned beneath the force of her gaze, sharp and searching. “You will be leaving me in Throal.”

There it was, the ugly discomfort between us.

Part of me was relieved that she had brought it up even as part of me rebelled violently to the suggestion.

Suggestion. What a joke.

Curling up in a ball around my pain, I barely felt Xanava sit on the bed beside me.

“I love you, you know. The part of you that I know. But I have a feeling that I will not know you once these bonds have been removed.” Despite my pain, I hung on Xanava’s every word, unaccustomed to her being so open. “I think that.” There was a heavy pause as Xanava uncomfortably cleared her throat. “I think that you will not need me anymore.” Before I could roll over and see her face, she was curled along my back, arms wrapped around my small body, face buried in my hair. “I will have to learn not to need you.”

What was I to say? Every word was true, spoken from the heart.

Even if both of our souls were breaking from the strain of the impending separation.

 

A knock woke me from a black dreamless sleep. “Kitten? Wolf? There’s breakfast here if you’re hungry,” Lucky’s jaunty voice called through the heavy door. “We have stories if you’re up for company.”

Xanava groaned and burrowed into my body and I smiled. With a sigh, she let me go and rolled onto her back to stretch languorously. I impulsively kissed her and the heat between us flared up again. This was so unfair. Lucky was all happy smiles, but there was a sheepish cast to his expression. Just as I was about to enquire, I noticed a figure half-hidden behind Durc’s bulk. When Jareth stepped from around the edge of the doorframe, yawning lazily, I took a wild guess as to whom the extra body was. “You’ve been making friends,” I said archly to Lucky and he winced.

“I was curious. She’s a good person, Kitten. She found us jobs here in one of the living complexes in the human-elven sector.”

Star grinned around Durc’s thick arm. “I’ve family here that appreciates intelligence and good looks, no matter what race bears them. And if Lucky and Durc are not happy, they are, of course, free to move on to whatever employment they wish.”

I couldn’t find fault with her, not with the bemused smiles on the two men’s faces. The first real taste of freedom was theirs. Xanava’s voice spoke softly before I could. “Thank you, Star. Freedom will suit these fellows well. Is that breakfast I smell?” Sure enough, there was a cart of plates and bowls and cups waiting with our company. “Won’t you all join us?”

I was moved by Lucky sidling up to Xanava and pressing a shy kiss to her dramatic cheekbone. A soft smile made him beam happily. Freedom would indeed suit them well. Durc flopped down to the bunk beside his former owner, bumping shoulders with her like a pair of dogs. Jareth groused as she dragged in, obviously still half-asleep. “These brutes were too antsy to sleep, but we were unsure that we should leave the inn. We ran into Star here in the common room and she provided a quick tour. No one here seems to care that we speak Theran. I heard it at least three times from others on the streets.”

I heard the words, but was completely distracted by the fact that Jareth had thrown herself bodily onto the heavy leather sack containing my magic Items. The flap popped loose and the glitter of my clan sword called me to it like a dying man to water. Before I could second guess what I was doing, the hilt was familiar in my hand, even as my choked Pattern cried in objection. For a moment I studied the lines of pure, clear crystal that made the blade while lightning danced over and under my skin.

At last, I couldn’t stand the pain any longer and let go with a strangled cry. I was gathered into Xanava’s arms, and she cooed gently over me. I hated the guilty pain in her voice nearly as much as the man who continued to hurt us both with the orichalcum bonds. “Ouch,” Xanava murmured. “Jareth, put this away before someone gets truly hurt.”

“By all that’s holy,” Star suddenly breathed and the room went silent. “That’s the Armsword of the Field! There are few weapons made from a single piece of living crystal with no faceting at all. I never thought to have the honor of actually seeing this treasure.”

Startled beyond my pain, I twisted to look at the Troubadour, and was horrified to see that Xanava had caught my dropped sword and there was blood running freely from her hand. Jareth had frozen in mid-motion as she was reaching for the murderously sharp crystal blade.

“ _Mearathaia Keroelle_ ,” Star translated to Sperethiel the True Name of my Item and I cried out with pain as my Pattern sang strangled harmony.

By the time I was aware of my surroundings, I was in the bed, cradled by Xanava’s familiar body. Someone was stroking my hair, and I identified Lucky’s gentle touch.

“I’m so sorry,” mourned Star’s voice nearby. “I had no idea what those monsters did to you. Anything you need is yours, hero.”

Feeling queasy from all the strain on my enchantments, I rubbed my face into Xanava’s chest for a moment, feeling her press a kiss to my crown. Then I turned my head, seeing the others hovering nearby, all of them worried. A wan smile reassured them and I was warmed by their concern. Star looked absolutely grave as she studied me intently.

“I know who you are now. I think that does not surprise you.”

I shook my head slightly, unwilling to move any more than I had to.

“I also recognized your blade because I know the wielder of the spear that matches it.”

That I had not expected at all and a face appeared in my mind’s eye. “Lenarra?” I questioned, hardly daring to hope. Star nodded decisively and my heart soared.

“I will go to her myself and explain what I can. She will come to you.”

 

It didn’t take long. All of us nearly jumped from our skins as the door burst open to reveal a figure I never thought I would lay eyes on again. Soundlessly, her mouth formed my Name, and I flinched from the pain. “Holy Passions, Sprout,” Lenarra breathed, using my hated childhood nickname. “It truly is you.” Gathered in my eldest friend’s embrace, I breathed in her scent and relaxed.

“Oh Len, my life has become so insane,” I chuckled through the tears in my eyes and she giggled with me.

“It always was. You attracted the strange like empty space attracts water. Star has told us what she knows of your predicament.”

“Us?”

There was a second figure in the doorway, a dark-haired elf with a warm smile for me. Lenarra leaned back to study my face and I willingly did the same. “This is Dajel Jadry, my partner in all things. Conveniently, an accomplished Elementalist as well. Perhaps we can help you.”

“Thank you, Len.”

Since the elven woman had met all but Xanava, introductions were easy. They studied her carefully, and the perusal was mutual. Then she quirked an eyebrow and queried, “Sprout?”

“Always short, that one was,” Lenarra explained with a grin and I sighed at the ancient teasing. “And liked to ambush me from the kaer’s nurseries. I’m the eldest by only six years and we were the only children born anywhere close in age. I never wanted for a sister, because I had her.”

The sentiment made my eyes tear up, not just from her words, but from watching my old friend make such an effort not to say my Name. How odd and disturbing this was.

 

 

Authors note: Years have passed and the ending to this has never materialized. There wasn't much left to tell. Kamryn must leave to find spellcasting Adepts powerful enough to remove her bonds without killing her or disrupting her Pattern and that means Throal, the capital city. Being conspicuously Theran, Xanava must remain in Urupa, the only place in Barsaive where she will not stand out. Lenarra and Dajel escort Kamryn away after an awkward and heartrending goodbye with Xanava and the boys. There are few words, for what can they say? Some time later, Lenarra and Dajel return to their home, running into Xanava who is working as a mercenary and settled into her new life. The elves assure the Warrior that Kamryn was freed, but they have shadows in their eyes that speak of how difficult and dangerous a process it was.

In time, Xanava and the elven couple meet other powerful Adepts and the inevitability of travel seizes them, leading to the former Theran truly falling in love with her amazing new home.

And now... on to the sequel! 


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